Low

So far, today has been the worst of the chemo phase — even though I have no actual treatment today or tomorrow.

I feel a sort of malaise, a sickness that has wrapped itself around me and taken root inside my guts somewhere. Dawn said before she went off to work for the day that she likes to imagine the little chemo drugs inside me karate chopping the tumors. Hi-Ya! That’s certainly what it feels like is going on — a bad action-adventure movie, with horrendus acting but plenty of violence, where the bad guys get what’s coming to them and the good guys get laid. But where does that leave me? Where does that leave my body? Have you ever imagined what it’s like to be the movie screen upon which such drivel is enacted? That’s me. I’m the movie screen. And it feels like hell, with a bunch of half-talented assholes hopping around trying to get noticed, kicking the shit (we hope) out of the cancer.

Does that make any sense? I find it hard these days to really explain to people what this feels like. “I feel sick,” I say, and everyone has their own perception of what that means, but I’m not sure it ever matches up with the reality of what I feel. It’s difficult to articulate. I reach for the right words, but only come up with vague nonsense. “I feel nauseous, fatigued, I feel sick, like I have the flu, my head hurts, I have no energy…” What can I say? I feel like shit.

If any of you out there, my devoted blog readers, come here looking for signs of hope and inspiration, I’m sorry to say I’ve got none to give today. My brightest thought is that this will be the lowest point, that this weekend will be the bottom — but I fear that’s not the case. I haven’t begun to lose my hair yet. And I say that not because I give a damn about losing my hair (I’ll just shave it, no big deal), but because it will signify yet another major cell break down in my body, which is bound to mean more sickness.

So, let’s hope this is the bottom. I’ll write more when I feel better….

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4 Responses to “Low”

  1. “No hope or inspiration to offer today”? Not so. Your honesty alone is inspiration. Thank you for writing every day that you are able to do so. We don’t expect you to always be brave and always be our source of hope and inspiration. We just want to be with you, and this blog offers that chance. Love you all the time, kiddo.

  2. You gotta love my mom.

    “How are you feeling [insert concerned look] today, Tara?” “Like my soul is being slowly and repeatedly torn from my body. And you?”

  3. Okay, to clarify for all who read this blog and the comments.

    The first line of my previous comment refers to “Sharonmom,” who is, in fact, my mom, and one of the best women ever on the entire planet, and “you gotta love my mom,” because she’s awesome.

    The SECOND line of the comment was what I planned to post in response to Mike’s blog, and is COMPLETELY unrelated to my mother or anything she said or says. That line is my conversational depiction of what chemo feels like. There are actually no real speakers depicted in those words, except that I did get that question a lot (including the concerned look). My “response” about the soul is kinda what I always wanted to say, as it seemed more accurate than “sick.”

    Did I mention that my mother and her wonderfulness has nothing to do with the hypothetical exchange? Did I mention that one has to be careful about using a bullet-pointed response technique in email/blogging? And one has to be particularly careful when one’s mother is reading said blog and already learning that one sends inappropriate T-shirts and “action figures” to one’s best friend?

    I am so glad I didn’t have a cancer blog. I can’t imagine what trouble I would have gotten with my own forum…

  4. And mom didn’t even do the “How are you feeling?” (with the concerned look) question, which is not a horrible question anyway, but is kinda annoying because people don’t want the hypothetical response I provided above.

    Mom knew I felt like crap. ‘Cause moms know this. She didn’t have to ask.

    Did I mention that I love my mom and I’m trying to dig myself out of a hole I didn’t realize I dug with my inaccurate wording? Separate paragraphs. Separate ideas. Next time, I’m totally going to write “New, unrelated idea starts here:”

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