On the Subject of Many-a-Thing
I’m gearing up for my re-admittance into the hospital for cycle 2 of 6 of my chemo treatment. In some ways, I feel far more prepared this time. For instance, I know it will be roughly 5 days in the hospital, and I know to pack almond butter and a loaf of bread. In other ways, I still feel utterly unprepared. Specifically saying any sort of ‘see you soon’ to my boys (Fred & George). To be fair, I used to get emotional when leaving for work, knowing I’d see them that same evening.
On the subject of work, these past 2 weeks at home have been strange and a blessing. Strange in the way that at times I feel guilty and don’t know what to do with my hands. A blessing, because there is no way I’d be up for work and feel very grateful to have FMLA coverage and be on short-term disability during all this. My weeks ‘off’ are punctuated with home nurse visits and doctors' appointments, and by the time I crawl my way home, I’m depleted and ready for a 4 pm bedtime. I’d be a brainfart-mess if I tried to work right now. I’m deeply appreciative of all of those covering in my absence!
Reppin’ my work in style!
On a completely unrelated subject, I shaved my armpits 8 days ago, and the hair hasn’t grown back. In a profound way. For the first time in the history of having armpits (perhaps outside of childhood), my pits match those of a model in a commercial for Venus razors - post shave. It’s a small positive (though I have nothing against keeping those pitties wild and hairy.)
On the subject of hair, what little cuties that are left on my head are beginning to fall out. Bald 2.0! It’s weird, yes. And also, I’m again relieved that I took matters into my own scissorhands first. Losing dark blonde stubs here and there doesn’t feel as traumatic as the wind catching a coif of radiant red and sending them to the birds for nesting.
On the subject of birds, thank goodness for birds. One of the activities I’ve filled my two weeks with is sitting on my balcony, a book in hand, a cup of coffee in reach, and Fred & George spread out near my feet. We listen to one particular dove coo from the nearest telephone pole. She heaves her beautiful bird breasts with each sound, and we look on, grateful to be alive.
With love and feathers,
Nutmeg
