I’m early on the journey – just two of the potential eight chemo sessions under my belt – and this phase may take me into early February 2006. When a dear friend revealed that he cried when he found out he would not have to endure another round of chemo, I suddenly knew why. Chemo can inflict all manner of pain and indignity upon you. Your body becomes unpredictable, with responses varying daily, if not more often. It is an all-too vivid reminder that I am not, in reality, the captain of my ship. Or if I am, the Admiral is allowing the fleet to move in a direction I’m not used to going!
Sleep, especially the first week after chemo, is proving to be sporadic and illusive. Nausea comes and goes, as do headaches and a variety of other intestinal discomforts. It’s almost impossible to string together two good days.
It’s hard to plan . . . hard to get things done I thought I could get done. This weekend was another example. Friday I felt awful, and it’s been downhill most of the way since, with an hour here or there as a respite. So plans to work on Hurricane Katrina-related updates for clients passed me by. That makes for a very heavy Monday. We’ll see what I’m able to do. I’m not the miracle worker I once was (or, more accurately, seemed to think I was).
God is my hope. He has not moved. He will see me through. He must, because, apart from heaven, I’m not sure where I’m going right now.