I could start by talking about my hands and feet, all four so messed up with cracks and peeling skin. The skin underneath the blisters isn't real skin, either. It's fake skin that has no elasticity or depth because chemo wants me to type with the erasers of pencils. I do have an awesome zombie limp going on though, since there's no skin on the ball of my left foot. Seriously, walkers have nothing on me right now.
Wait ... I could talk about my hair, or what's left of it. My baby sister and I love to sing like "Judice". Little did I know that someday, I'd look like her.
Or I could complain about how tired I am. Except that ... I'm too tired to complain about my fatigue. My life right now is many more "snooze" hours compared to "awake" hours. I can't wait to right this imbalance.
I could complain about the pain I feel, daily, throughout my torso. It's intense pain that makes me rock back and forth in an effort to comfort myself and cry tears, real tears that come from a place that hurts so bad, I don't know what else to do but to just break down.
I could complain about my mouth and the sores inside and out. Or maybe the fact that my body can't heal the way it should because my platelets are low. I know, a joint complaint about mouthsoreslowplateletsitis will do.
Or I could complain about my spirit and how unstable my attitude has been. I've been down following this treatment. Really.down. And I don't know why. The chemo is working and I'm learning how to tolerate the treatments better. Still, I tend to get weepy and emotional pretty quick these days. I hope this funk I'm in goes away soon.
But for now, I'll keep my complaints to myself and just survive. Survival is my main mode of operation these days. Survival and sleep.
Carry on,
~K
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