Falling Back

So I guess I got ahead of myself on the last post. Either that, or the meds had me in a good fog still on Tuesday. But once they wore off on Wednesday, there was just fog. And nausea, which feels a lot like morning sickness that I can't seem to do anything about. And the headache that likes to linger throughout chemo weeks. I don't know if it's the chemo or one of the anti-nausea drugs, because it isn't the caffeine, since I beat down that addiction to one cup a day during the first week of chemo. (For those of you keeping track in tennis lingo, that one was like when you are trying to break someone's serve, and you never really can get the advantage, but you keep scraping back to deuce, and then you finally get an advantage and they double fault.) And the fatigue, which frankly kicked my you-know-what this time.

There were aspects of this chemo cocktail round that were more positive than the previous ones. A good fog is still a good fog. The anti-nausea meds are thankfully keeping all hurling, thus far, at bay. I have aleady downed three chemo cocktails (only one more to go in this first round, thank God!) so some of the anxiety from the unknown and the unexpected has begun to dissipate. And, though it hasn't been smooth sailing, we have found somewhat of a chemo groove somewhere on the b-side, which seems to be so far so good.

I just tried to sleep off Wednesday and Thursday. I know that I am fortunate that our life allows me to do so. Friday I was hoping for a window of feeling good enough to do some things that I really needed to do with my kids. Life does go on during chemo, and, naps having their place and then being placed aside, I really don't feel like sleeping through it. Especially not the mum part. Thankfully, the window happened. I was able to go with my kids to the funeral for one of their friend's mums. It was a beautiful funeral, celebrating a beautiful life. We did not have the pleasure of knowing her, but we had been praying for her ever since our kids became friends. I also was able to go to a David Crowder Band concert with my kids (and a caravan of our friends) on Halloween night. When we booked the tickets we had miscalculated and thought it didn't fall in a chemo week. It was such a fun night. Mikey lost his voice singing with. Matt got his ticket signed by David Crowder; Mikey and Amanda got their Converse signed. Even I got a David Crowder tee shirt and Amanda had him sign it for me. He wrote "Mom's shirt" on it really big. I snapped tons of photos with my kids, their friends, and David Crowder. Even got one with me and David Crowder. My face hurt from smiling.

And Saturday morning, the window shut again. The fatigue hit hard. My heart would race every time I got up to refill my water bottle or go to the bathroom. Which is a lot of what I do. I spent the entire day trying to catch up on all the Brit Lit reading I hadn't been able to focus and read all week. Read a chapter, bathroom break, refill water bottle, and repeat. With a few naps, a short walk down the cul-de-sac to try and fight fatigue and focus brain, plus lots of losing track what I'm doing, in between. I did finish. But it was distracting hearing my heartbeat all day. I could hear and time it with the wall clock. It made me feel like I was racing the clock. I don't know if that made me all tense and tight, but my chest has been feeling like things don't fit. Not to mention, that since some more of the swelling has gone down around Port Rapha, I have been able to feel and see some of the stitches holding the tube in place. Which I would rather not see or feel. So there has been some anxiety there. Dave has talked to the doctor on call, and it all seems to be usual chemo fare, so we're just trying to see if it wears off as we go into this not chemo week. Hopefully it will, because it takes a lot to gear up for chemo weeks. I used to carb up for tennis matches; now Dave tries to fatten me up for chemo. I liked the old way better. Not to mention I could taste the food. Right now everything tastes like refried beans or mashed potatoes, but muted of all its flavor. Very strange sensation. You see the food. It looks yummy. You taste the food. Nothing. So you swallow and try again to see if there was something you missed. Nope. Then you try to finish your food and everyone will clap if you do. Totally different Pavlovian technique. But who, really, is being trained here? The finisher of food or the clappers? Something to think about next time you clap for me when I finish my food.

So I hope this doesn't come off like I'm a whiner. I really don't feel whiney. But this is what is going on; it is what it is; and Dave thought I should update the previous post, since I sort of fell back like the time did this morning. So hopefully now you have more ammo to pray, and thank you so much for praying. I am humbled, grateful, and feel a very large debt of love that feels a bit like a blanket crossed with a hope that I can someday pay it forward, since there is no way any one person could possibly pay it back in a lifetime.