These Crashy Days...

So a good friend sent me a private FB message saying if I didn't want to be so strong all of the time she was here to listen to me winge and whine anytime I needed it.  Said friend is definitely one of the smartest, safest people with whom I would rant and rave, but I try to save it for these blog posts.  I try not to drown people in sorrow on "Best Face forward-Book", that is the place of sunshine and light and family pics and "see how well I'm doing?? I'm fine, no Fine, no FINE I tell you, godddamit!

The truth is I dread every round of chemo.  I had a major meltdown last time when I thought I was on my "getting better" day (according to the demanding schedule inside of my head, based on the last round) and I tried to take the small dog for a five mintue shuffle down the road and found myself heart pounding, lathery sweat, shaking trying to get home.  Plus the stupid dog refused to poop, which probably meant a lovely surprise on the kitchen floor later, but that's a whine for another time...

I can sum up my chemo week (I get my infusion on a Tuesday and usuallys start crashing on Thursday) like the opening theme of that classic, feel good show,  Happy Days, if you're old enough to remember Fonz and the Gang sing along in your head:

Tuesday, Wednesday - HAPPY DAYS  (I have a buttload of steroids keeping me artificially afloat)

Thursday, Friday -CRASHY DAYS  (steroids have worn off... the drugged "Bill Cosby's date" feeling) sets in...

Saturday, Sunday - BONE PAINY DAYS (from my immune booster shot, ususally settles in a throbbing headache and lower back pain, with bonus shots down my front femurs, fun!)

Monday Comes, METAL MOUTH AND GUMS, and everything tastes like burnt sooo-ooot!

Sing it!  These days go ooon-ooon-oon... these crashy days!!!  For about 10-12 days they go ooon-ooon-oon, (along with gastrointestinal distress and various emotional breakdowns!)

Sing it!...   Ah, suck it!

On Camping and other "C" words.....

Well, well well... who knew it could happen?  A family vacation during which I do not cry once?  It only took 10 years for us to be able to leave with the boys out of the house and not wish for the sweet realease of.. oh, wait, maybe I shouldn't joke about that anymore, given present circumstances.

Ahem,

So i guess I'll put this experience into the gratitude category which has gotten a lot longer as of late.  I have to work carefully to control the behavior of my mind.  It is so easy to get scared and say "what if.. and worry about whether the dreaded beastie will decide to spread, now or down the road.  Granted, it has a 95% chance of never making another uninvited appearance, but that 5% will niggle at you, if you let it.  It is an unpredictable beast and when my mind wants to dwell on this I must control it's behavior, like that of a toddler.  Re-direct, distract, give it ice-cream.

Counting my blessings is a great way to change the direction of my meandering brain.  This experience has given me as much as it has taken away, I am awestruck by the kindness and thoughtfulness of my friends, and people who hardly know me, but still go out of their way with a kind message or gesture or a gift.  I have learned that my family is not a bunch of people who wait until all of my work is done to get a scrap of my time, nor should they be.  I have given myself permission to carve out time to take care of myself, to say no and to not feel obligated.  I have learned that the phrase "it's not life or death" really means just that, because I now have a context to compare.

When the doctor gives you the "C" diagnosis, you really, genuinely believe in that moment that you are going to die, that your children will be motherless, that you will miss everything from that point on.  To then find out you are probably going to be ok is really to have your life yanked from you, re-molded and given back in a new form.  That new form is often given in a perspective that few get to truly experience.

It is a small club with a very shitty inititation ceremony, but I'm so glad to have it's membership.