Cancer's Subtle Reminders

It's amazing how quickly things can change these days. Despite my "bald is power" mood this morning and the surprising amount of energy I've been feeling since Wednesday's infusion, things have taken a big dip. There's just no predicting how my body is going to feel at any given moment and that may be one of the most frustrating parts of all of this. Yesterday was full of laughs and ice cream with Liz and Lisa and even a trip to Harwinton to see my mother-in-law. Today, getting to the bathroom and back has seemed a rite of passage. 

I woke up feeling queasy and achey but figured it would pass. A visit with an ultra-positive friend and a trip to Brookside Bagels for what else but a bacon, egg and cheese on a cheddar everything bagel proved to be just what the doctor ordered ... at that moment anyway. We were so desperate for the cheddar everything fix that we even waited 15 minutes for a new batch to be baked after being devastated by the site of the empty basket sprinkled with only crumby remnants of cheesy deliciousness. Nicole was a cheddar-everything virgin and we could not let her miss the experience. 

That was like the tip of the roller coaster and the rest of the day was the speedy plummet to cancer crapness.  When I feel like this it's almost like an out-of-body experience. Like my body is just carting around this cancer battle inside of it. Like I'm no longer a person, just a means for which to carry this disease. No matter how much I might want to go for a walk, go pick up a milk, toss the ball with Sammy, it was not happening. I was literally zapped of energy. Sitting up was difficult. It's not a tired like a "I-just-played-tennis-for-an-hour-and-was-volleying-like- a-bad-ass-and-now-I-need-a-nap" tired. It's a bone deep tiredness. It's not just muscles. It's like my tissues and cells are tired, everything down to my neurons, protons and electrons are completely exhausted and crying for rest but there's no sanctum to be found. Even the inside of my ears hurt. 

Itchy, patchy stubles remain on my head and my baldness has morphed from a cute Demi Moore in "G.I. Jane" to more closely resembling Yule Brynner in "King and I." Like Yule I'm "Getting to Know" my new cancer-filled self. I'm too tired to nap, too antsy to stay in one place, but too beat to move. From my bed under a ceiling fan to an anti-gravity lounge chair in the back yard I shifted like a sloth throughout the day carrying books and drinks with me as if I could concentrate on reading anything. What gets me through is knowing that tomorrow can't be any worse than this and that it's only going to get better. At least I have bowel control and mouth tissues in tact for this bout.