Hard Day

Today is one of the hard days. After being discharged from the hospital yesterday, I wrestled through a pitiful night of sleep. Punctuated by pain and more chemo dreams. Dreams where furniture comes to life and chases me down winding hallways. Dreams where my mom finds another daughter. A daughter who knows how to cut her hair. I wake up, and I’m tender from my toes up to my jaw. I have no sense of smell or taste, and yet my sense of sound is so strong it turns my tummy.

Today I’m sitting up in bed, mostly crying and apologizing for crying. It feels helpless, and yet my energy amounts to not much else. Due to the PICC line still in my right arm and the Pleurx catheter on my right side, my attempt at a shower isn’t much more than splashing around in tepid water for a few minutes.

Today I feel sick.

When we went to pick up my myriad of prescriptions from Kroger yesterday, I jealously watched a girl in gym shorts quickly clip through the parking lot. I envied her energy. The simple task of going into the store feels like moving concrete blocks across sand dunes right now. 

Today, I’m being especially honest, even though it feels like complaining into an empty bucket. Because I know good days shine after the dreary days finish taking their dump.

With love and mostly tissues,
Nutmeg