since it took five months to get into chemo, it will take five months to get out. Meaning: I won’t return back to normal until the beginning of April. While this is true, I’ve also heard that energy awakens at the three month mark. I had my three month celebration at the beginning of February and I have to say, I started to feel great mid-January. Before that, I moved slowly. I required naps. I burned-out quickly. It took me three days to recover from the holidays (I laid in bed, slept and did nothing). I still behaved like an old lady.
By mid-January, my entire world shifted. A veil was lifted and I felt injected by a ebullient, unstoppable force. I’m euphoric. My friends tell me I look radiant. In fact, a stranger touched my arm at the grocery store and said that I was literally glowing. Contrary to my belief that chemo would age me, it has done quite the opposite. I can only attribute this to the regeneration of all those cells it had killed. Like many things, it won’t last, but I’ll take it while I’ve got it.
More importantly, I’ve jumped into the human flood of activity. I’m currently organizing the Oregon Battle of the Books regional comprised of 60+ schools. Our crew of historians, architects and I have met with the city commissioner to discuss restoration of the Vista Bridge. I’ve managed to sew 20 garments. I started to work out with my personal trainer. I’m rounding up kids for the Fried Eagle zine. I’m being invited to lunches, coffees and evening drinks with girlfriends. I finally volunteered at Nigel’s middle school for the first time (with his permission). I’m running errands daily, cooking nightly, cleaning the house weekly, driving Nigel back and forth from activities. I’m back!
And yet…
There are some things that need more time to settle into the new normal. Perhaps with more protein. I’m tired of eating protein. I’m such a plant-based eater, protein is difficult. I’m told to continue eating more since my body continues to work on recovery—especially after the surgery. I feel sparks of nerve connections—little fireworks inside my body—on the side of my left armpit where six lymph nodes were removed. I’m told this could last for years.
And the phantom pain! I feel the cramping of my cancerous lesion, especially at night. Then when I quickly, nervously move my hand to the site, all I feel is a big hollow breast. But it’s presence is there, inside the hollowness. I feel like I have my old breasts. Whenever I jog, I feel their heft. Whenever I lay down, I feel them pancake off to my sides. But my phony boobs are an illusion. They stay put, never jiggle, don’t require a harness and stick straight up when I’m flat on my back. My tiny Barbie missiles.
While my fingers have recently pushed out the last of their bruised, thickened nails, my big toes require more time. Dark pieces of nail crumble off whenever I trim my toes. But with each crescent snip of the clippers, I slowly reclaim them. My brain is still a little hazy, but I’m far less forgetful. Ironically, my GI tract began to misbehave after I finished chemo. I swallow probiotic pills, sip kombucha, and eat cups of yogurt. And yet… (sigh).
These are minor issues. I’m grateful I’ve recovered so quickly. Only two months to go—just in time for my final surgery. Oy!
I can relate to this so intensely. So many things are the same, or gone back to the same and yet there are so many things that are different. I have that pain too, although I still have my breasts, there is a gaping hole in my armpit and sometimes I feel the hole. That sounds strange to fee an absenbse, but it's like that. I can so relate to the phantom limb thing. I feel like I can feel the tissue that isn't there. And all the little aches and pains. My skin still hurts from radiation, I still feel bruised under my arm. I want to take the best care of myself and yet life moves so fast, I can't keep up. Recovery is hard.
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