This is a humbling experience on multiple levels. I’m totally dependent on other people for huge swaths of the summer. I don’t like making people wait on me, but I have little choice. Also, I stopped looking like myself weeks ago. (Months ago if you count the surgery that made me lopsided, years ago if you count the 45 pounds I gained when the cancer first started to blossom.) My bathroom mirror covers half the wall, and even sitting on the potty there’s no escaping it. I see my tired face, under a bald head, leaning against the cool wall for a little relief from the heat radiating out of my scalp. My eyebrows and eyelashes are thinning, and I haven’t had a lot to smile about lately. I can see the shadows of physical and emotional pain under my eyes. This will be my view for the next week, alternating with my bedroom ceiling. I’m not looking forward to it.
I was very careful today. I ate little, stopping by noon. I really just had cinnamon toast, weak chocolate milk, and about four green grapes. Nothing but water since. I’m determined not to throw up this round. We shall see whether it works. My head started hurting early in the day, and it’s getting worse as the night progresses. The steroids made me gain about seven pounds worth of water between the morning of infusion and the next day. So far I have shed more than half of it back off. No need to describe how.
I can’t decide whether to take a sleep aid, since I dozed most of the afternoon. Might be worth it. But then, it might make me sleep through the onset of the worst symptoms, and that could be a tragic mistake. Maybe I’ll just go natural after all.
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