The predicted rotten weekend was, in fact, profoundly rotten. I’m making a conscious decision here not to detail all of the lurid details, despite being totally desensitized to the social taboo of scatological conversation by my 2 and 4 year-olds. And my 60 year-old dad, who forestalled an in-car meltdown by telling the kids they were having “poop and sandwich” for dinner. Thanks, Dad. Nice.
We got through it, as always, with lots of help. Thank you, thank you, especially to my parents and to Mike and Margaret, our rockstar neighbors who took the kids for a large chunk of Sunday.
The good news, though, is that I’m feeling much, much better. Wiped out, for sure, but most of the “poisoned” sensation is gone. It is hard to describe the deep suck of chemo…..yes, there is nausea, yes, there is fatigue, but there’s also this penetrating crud….24 hour morning mouth, no matter how many times you brush, muscle soreness, weird vision blips, weird mind blips. I wish I could capture it in words, but it isn’t happening. There is something more than a checklist of symptoms. I don’t recommend it.
But here I am. Monday, and the clouds have really cleared. Virginia is doing its annual greening with customary grace and panache, and I’m feeling inside much like the world looks outside.
A little muddy, but fresh.