crash
A week or so ago I crashed. I was tethered to bed doubled over in pain. A sip of water made my stomach feel as though it were knives I swallowed. The mere thought of food was so appalling because of the pain I just didn’t eat for four days. Which of course led to dehydration which led to intense nausea. All spelling out disaster for a cancer patient.
I muttered “what if I can’t do this” so quietly Joe didn’t hear me at first. I doubled down and said it again. He assured me we’d fix this and the next round would not be this bad. That every new treatment is a whirlwind for my body to handle.
Pain removes hope. It completely erases it. Pain overwhelms and tricks you to thinking you will feel this terribly forever. There will be no reprieve. Just this pain.
And if pain is all you have and you have to continue treatment to stay alive - what kind of life is that?
But then, I was reminded of Jane aka Nightbirde and her question “Don’t you want to see what happens if you don’t give up?” I reminded myself of all of the beautiful dreams that happened this year. All of the good I never imagined.
I have endured 36 cycles of chemotherapy in 27 months. I have never felt so poorly and I have never truly been so terrified that I cannot handle this life of treatment.
It even feels impossible now that I ever felt that way. How could I think that? How could I say that to Joe?
The pain started on a Thursday, I spent Friday working in bed and going to my desk when necessary for meetings and then the entire weekend in bed. I attempted a Target visit and had to sit in the car while Joe got the rest of the necessities. Sunday was again in bed. Then on Monday, I worked from bed and counted down the minutes until I could go to the infusion center for fluids meds.
Finally, Monday night, I had a real meal.
I am most thankful that I was able to bounce out of it. That I did not let that fear overtake me for long. And most importantly, that in that moment, Joseph wholeheartedly believed I can do this and reminded me of who I am.
