Started chemo a week ago and this past weekend I was swimming around in this indescribable tiredness. Just laid on my bed, unable to talk, answer a text or even watch TV. Feeling utterly helpless, sad and lonely.
And even worse than that, the smell of chemicals on my skin. Every breath reminding me of how I’m poisoning my body.
Sunday I had decided that I can’t do this to myself, it’s not worth it. If it means living a shorter life, so be it. This is unbearable - to treat my body this way.
And this is once! First time!
Hungry, ate too much, things I never eat, indigestion, desperate to experience some kind of clear connection to my body, to myself.
Sunday a little better, not quite as incapacitated, but still so tired and confused.
Realising that I can’t do this on my own, although not knowing what kind of help, support I need, I want. To be this utterly out of touch with myself is utterly disconcerting.
Trying to remind myself that I now have five times left, not six. I have seventeen weeks left, not eighteen.
And I wasn’t nauseous, that’s one good thing.
A dear friend sharing that someone else she knows, who went through this, made plans for when this would be over. Plans to travel. Something to look forward to.
So maybe New York in the Fall? New York in September, that’s a nice thought.