Image taken from here. Africa. One day I'll go...
Sometimes at the end of the day all I have to show for myself is that it's one day over and that I get to go to bed. Ambien or ativan, take me away.
I've been a bit discouraged. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into with this repeated second round of chemo. And sure, the schedule has been the same, but I haven't had the same small surges of energy. I haven't felt any better; in fact, I've felt worse. Nausea, fatigue, lack of energy or desire to really do anything but nap and watch useless TV. I feel like a lump. I feel like the past three months have been a black hole--a waste of time and money. A LOT of money.
And that, I believe, is the problem. Unsubstantiated expectations. I didn't take into account that I started this second round tired already from the first half, with no break. My body feels like it's still breaking down; there has been no recovery and recouping time. So even with my excitement that on Tuesday my white blood cell count shot up from 0.2 to 3.4, I didn't expect it to drop by Friday back down to 0.4. And I thought my new blood would give me energy, but I think they gave me tired blood, because all I want to do is sleep. And NOT eat.
My only expectation is that there is an end of the day. An END.
But you know what comes with knowing there's an end of the day? That there's a new one coming. So even though I woke up at 5:00 am with a crushing sense of nausea due to yesterday's chemo, it also means it's one day closer to less nausea. Right? And one day closer to watching the last episode of Downton Abbey.
Image taken from here. Bali. One day I will travel again.