Knots

Inspirational song: Touch Me (The Doors)

This week is going to do me in. There is just so much going on outside of my small slice of the world. We are standing at another precipice, and I can’t predict which direction we will move, backwards or over the edge. Waiting is hard.

I am knotted up, and I mean that literally, physically. My muscles are sore, and that soreness is souring my attitude. I’m cranky, even when I’m trying to put on a happy face to the world. I don’t like taking painkillers when I can avoid it, but it’s much harder to do without them when my best non-medication coping mechanisms are not available to me. Before the surgery last spring, I put my massage membership on hold for six months. I wasn’t able to tolerate lying on the table, and it saved me money that wasn’t coming in while the condo was torn up. Not having a massage since March really drives home how much I was relying on them to keep me functional. I think the freeze automatically comes off my account at the beginning of November, and I will be desperate to jump back into a regular schedule by then. My worst fear is that Slow Hand will have carried out his vague plans to retire while I was gone, and I’ll have to find someone new. I do not want that, not yet.

T came over and used our hot tub tonight, for an extended visit. He has been working so hard on his kitchen remodel, and he has an open invitation to use it at his discretion. I was surprised that he and Mr S-P stayed out there chatting until after midnight, but they’re grownups who get to set their own bedtimes, so whatever. Do I sound extra cranky about that? That’s because I’m not allowed to use the tub myself for another week and a half. Why is it everything I am going through to make me healthy and cancer free involves denying me the chance to soak my sore muscles, so that I actually feel better? Stay out of it after surgery. Be super careful about non-sterile activities during chemo. Avoid hot or cold against the irradiated breast for weeks. No wonder I’ve had to resort to the occasional baclofen or glass of wine (not at the same time) to feel better. It’s all that I’ve got left (and during chemo, I didn’t even have the wine.)

Maybe I’ll set aside the blogging and let Athena make biscuits on my knotted up arms. She is inclined to do it right now anyway. It will be almost like going to see Slow Hand, but with claws.