Energy Crisis

I last posted on June 20th. That was the day after chemo, when I was still hopped up on steroids from the previous day. Even though I’d barely slept the night before, I still had the energy to run a couple of errands and meet Sissa at the pool.

It’s been a long, hard week since then.

The reality is that it’s been the worst week yet. Karen, the kind chemo nurse, told me it would be so. I’d hoped she was wrong, but unfortunately she was right on. Each time I’ve had treatment, it’s taken me a little longer to recover and feel mostly normal. Today is the first day I’ve really felt decent since last Monday. It’s not that I’m all pukey or anything, but mainly an extreme fatigue, coupled with a queasiness that increases if I need to eat, yet at the same time makes me not want to eat. I’ve been trying to eat anyway, especially since the red counts were down, but I’ve still been losing weight. Hey, at least I don’t have to worry about being bald AND fat.

However, it’s very wearing for me, mentally, to not have the energy to do the simplest things. On Sunday, for example, it was wearing me out to stand and eat a donut at church. Even more so when people stopped to ask me how I was doing and I had to stand, hold a donut, and breathe enough to speak. I’m not kidding. I was literally leaning on a table, feeling like I was going to fall out. Who AM I these days? A few months ago, it was no big deal for me to feed 200 people at a wedding reception—now I can barely feed myself a square donut!

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I know there are some of you who are anxious to hear what the craving of the week is. Just so you know, I’m totally over the nacho cheese thing. This week’s craving is….birthday cake. You know, with the big, gaudy icing flowers? Normally, I’m not that much of a cake fan, and if I were to choose cake, it would probably be something a little more exotic than regular old birthday cake. But, there’s no accounting for this chemo craving thing, so birthday cake it is—white or yellow, please, with lots of icing.

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Mini Me has been a big help this week, taking up my slack while I’ve spent most of my time laying around. However, she is just ten, and in spite of her efforts, the house has been generally going to pot. Ten year olds will do the dishes, while somehow forgetting the dinner plates they forgot to clear from the table. Ten year olds will also not notice the big chunks of their breakfast burrito that fell to the floor, or the grass they tracked in, or the black toe prints—I doubt I even want to know what that black is—all over the kitchen. Ten year olds think nothing of the fact that ALL of their shoes have somehow migrated to just inside the doorway, or that their beading supplies are strewn all over the living room. They think that the window sill is a perfectly logical place to put the recyclable plastics.

I am thankful to have her help—I can’t imagine what I’d do if she were a toddler right now! But this never quite getting everything clean deal is adding up. I’m starting to feel like I live with the barn house man—the local crazy who has just stacks and stacks of all manner of junk everywhere, and once built an ark in his yard from scrap wood and old windows. Maybe I should start building an addition onto the house with the shoes and plastics. Most of those plastics are clear—I think I’ll build a sunroom! Or at least maybe I will, when I have the energy.

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