I haven't felt too bad for the past couple of days. I find myself saying that a lot. "Not too bad!" I say, cheerily. Because "not too bad" is the new good. Getting through a day without crashing and feeling miserable is something to be happy about. It's only been a month of chemo, with three to go. Then, of course, there's surgery and radiation and reconstruction....but I'm trying to stay focused on one thing at a time. But sometimes, that is really damned hard.
Sunday, I sat at the table in our room with Michael and played games for maybe an hour or an hour and a half. I folded a few pieces of laundry. That was the extent of my activity for the day. I crashed around 3:00, totally miserably exhausted. I thought, "I have to do this five more times?" I think of all the restrictions I'm under and think, "Three more months of this?"
Thankfully, I do get a little better every day, and yesterday I got through the whole day with a reasonable level of energy. I didn't do anything physical, but at least I didn't feel miserable.
So I'm feeling whiny. I don't want to cancer anymore.
And then I feel guilty, because you know what? I really don't have it that bad. I have very few side effects compared to what I've read from other women. I'm not pregnant. I don't have little kids or a useless husband draining what little energy I have. The opposite, in fact. I don't have to go through months or years of trying to find the right treatment because the cancer isn't responding. I'm not stressed out wondering how the bills will get paid. All I have to do is sit here and heal, and the treatments are working (so far, at least. Knock on wood). And I'm grateful for that, really.
But it still sucks. And today I'm going to whine about it. And then eat comfort food...as long as it's washed, cooked through, and I skip the alcohol. Sigh.
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