Post chemo days were hard. I was wiped like I've never been. I've worked night shifts for 23 years, caught the infamous H1N1 flu in 2009 (when I was 28 weeks pregnant), mothered three children under the age of 5, and yet I have never been as tired as I was this past weekend. It was a blur of sleep, disorienting moments of lying down awake and more sleep. Waves of nausea would hit in the middle of the night along with night sweats and panic. My skin and nerves were raw. Looking at myself, I could see all the scabbed purple and green battle wounds. I felt bruised from where my port was placed, bruised where the biopsies were done, and bruised from where I had been poked and prodded the last 4 weeks. Round 1 of chemo and I felt I was already losing.
During the day, I really tried to suck it up. I forced myself up, got dressed and tried to sit with the family. Even that was hard. The chemo brain wouldn't allow me to follow the most simple conversations. It was all too fast and too much for me to take in and the weight of just being upright was intolerable. I wanted to be intentional but I could not engage. That made me sad.
Thankfully, each day after got better. Now, almost one week post my first infusion, I feel a little more like myself. I anticipate the next three rounds of the Red Devil will be much of the same. Perhaps more intense with each round. I've been told, "Just when you think you can't take it anymore, you will be done." One round down. Sixteen more to go.
