Honestly, mostly spinning
Riding the highs and lows and swimming the ebbs and flows of each post-chemo recovery cycle is spinning me into deja vu of early COVID quarantine days. During those early days, I aspired to bake bread, finish the Artist’s Way, and lift my way to Michelle Obama's arms.
Similarly, the second week of post-chemo recovery brings space and renewed energy, and aspirations soar. During recovery cycle 1 and 2, by the second week, I walked and wrote every day, blended up smoothies as green as fresh earth, and experienced bursts of gratitude for simply existing in the moment.
Recovery from cycle 3 is looking a bit different.
Not unlike when quarantine days became quarantine weeks (and then months), the fire and fervor fluctuate. Currently, I feel and present like a hapdash pile of sparklers, a little damp from Spring rain, taking light (but only unexpectedly) and hoping to make it to Fourth of July with some tenacity.
We are at the halfway point, and logic tells me that a plateau in motivation isn’t uncommon. Logic also tells me that comparison is a fool's errand. How I felt a week ago, especially during all of this, is interesting data; however, no real indicator of how I will feel this week.
And still, at least once a day, I find myself shouting, lovingly and exasperated, at my reflection to show this girl some grace!
You see, and I imagine you share this burden, I possess a little voice inside me, like a producer on caffeine pills, who uses words like “need” and “should”. I need to make use of this downtime (to write, to produce, to renew, to to to). I need to respond to every text or message of support IMMEDIATELY lest my pause be misread as an absence of feeling the support. After all, I should be more grateful and less restless. I should be feeding my body three meals with protein a day instead of gorging on blueberries and sugary cereal hand over fist at midnight.
This voice is also fond of what is ‘good’ and what is ‘bad’ and how these labels represent conditions for receiving love. Went on a walk and ate a banana? Good. Slept in and ate a burger. Bad. Good - love granted. Bad - love withheld.
This voice, she’s a bitch. A hurt, tired, trifling, scared, and mis-educated bitch.
She’s shouting over the sheer volume of control stolen in the moment of my diagnosis.
So I understand why this voice is growing hoarse in my ear. AND she needs to find a seat in the back of the Greyhound bus, hurling us through this journey, and take a long nap.
The truth is, this cycle is one of restlessness, overeating, and leaving a few more dishes in the sink. Period. No need to title it ‘good’ or ‘bad’. No need to ‘should’ my pants when there are already chances of sharting them while on all these meds.
It is its own picture of side effects. I’ve developed blisters on the bottoms of my feet, so the walks are slower. I’ve lost a little feeling in my fingertips, so every time I reach for something, it falls through the air like a rom-com pratfall.
Even Fred senses the static of this midway point. He’s taken to ripping things off my wall where he can reach. Plus, he’s remodeling my closet one torn-open box at a time.
We are going through it.
Keeping the side and rearview mirror of that same greyhound bus focused to catch any glimpses of Ms. Depression creepin’ up in her nearly soundless Prius.
Holding onto the kitchen counter with white knuckles because one minute I’m washing out the cat bowls and the next stopping cold to quickly body-flash back to March 17th, standing in the waiting room with the word lymphoma settling into my marrow for the first time.
Surrendering to this moment, halfway through. Reeling from the distance gained as much as the distance ahead. Spinning out AND spinning the situation where I can:
(of course I’m ending this with gratitude!)
I get to have my bald head covered in a henna crown at the end of this week, as a gift to myself for making it halfway through. I look forward to sharing the experience with you here afterward!
I get to use some of this unexpected time to write more letters, my favorite way of connecting with people, on recently purchased notecards heavily featuring birds.
I get to return to this blog with honesty when energy allows, and I hope that it resonates with another soul.
With unconditional love and honesty,
Nutmeg
P.S. I head into the hospital for cycle 4 of chemo next week. My goal is to spend the time further connecting with the lovely nurses who take such good care of me. Plus - continuing to surrender…wish me luck!
