It’s been a rough, rough week. Chemo last Tuesday knocked me down – HARD. F-bomb. FBC.
The cumulative effect of three doses of TAC chemotherapy is really taking its toll…everywhere (body AND mind).
As a matter of (pathetic) fact, I have been quite the “chemo-sobby” girl, i.e., I cry at the drop of a hat (or bread crumb or door closure).
Example: The Husband went out on Friday night (to a party that I really, really wanted to attend, but couldn’t possibly because I was too sick). To add insult to my already harebrained situation, The Young Dubliners, one of our favorite bands, was playing. Serious bummer. FBC.
While The Husband was out and our daughter, a/k/a Finally Five was sleeping, I couldn’t focus on a thing. Not a book, movie or magazine. All I was left with were the thoughts in my mushy, overwrought, absentminded brain combined with a series of hot flashes as regular (and, for me, as uncomfortable) as contractions.
At some point, The Husband text’d (with the Young Dubliners playing in the background): You ok? Want me to come home?
Of course I wanted him to come home and wallow in my misery. Of course I wanted him to be with me as I writhed in the discomfort of my relentless bone pain. Of course I wanted him to rub my feet and tell me everything was going to be ok.
Fortunately, though, I held my neuroses hostage and told him to stay and have a good time. By 11:00, however, I was a complete wreck, having moved from our bedroom to the library for cooler pastures and a darkness that I hoped would keep my mental maladjustment at bay.
When he rolled in, I must have been quite a site: wearing a skullcap down to my nose, scarf quadruple wrapped around my neck, and flannel snowman pajamas with the pants pulled up over my knees. To add to the über sexy look, my arms and legs were spread a la the Nestea Plunge commercials circa 1978.
When he came in and saw me, he chuckled (as he justifiably should have!). Well, well, well, that little chuckle, that tiny little chuckle let the wild, untamed chemo-sobby loose. I went into a wailing fit of tears, the likes of which frightened even me. I said: Why are you laughing at me? How could you laugh at me?
Poor guy. An impossible position. Don’t you feel for him? What on earth does one say to that? He was forced to lie (we both knew he was lying) and say: “I’m not laughing at you, honey.” Then he promptly exited the room and went to the kitchen for a piece of chocolate. He came back about 5 minutes later and asked if he could help me get to bed (not to sleep, mind you, but to bed).
The only thing that stopped me from crying was the threat of losing more eyelashes. (That, my friends, is a highly motivating factor!) The Husband proceeded to tuck me in, kiss me on the forehead and tell me how much he loves me. Can you imagine? All that love AFTER my chemo-sobbing. Do you see why he is The Husband of the Year (HOTY) two years running?
To add insult to injury this week, Finally Five is sick as snot. We are hoping to high heaven that everything is ok. That she just has the flu. Ahhhhhh, to wish for “only” having the flu.
Tonight before dinner, while The Husband was out picking up our favorite Italian food, fever-laden Finally Five said, “Mommy, let’s find the Silver Linings of today.” Seriously. Despite doing my very best to wallow in the bottomless pit of despair, snorgle-faced Finally Five comes through to seek the Silver Linings of our day day. (Thank you so much, Finally Five!)
While I continue to look for and always find Silver Linings in every day, I don’t want to give the impression that, for one second, this is easy breezy. FBC is really F-Bomb hard. The side effects are horrendous. I literally feel like throwing up every minute of every day. I am in a persistent, foggy state of forgetfulness. I don’t sleep with any efficacy (though I’m still working on last week’s list of recommended sleep aides). And I feel like I have a jackhammer in the middle of my bones.
Despite all of this, yes, I maintain a silver lined attitude. Yes, I look for the positive in everyday. Yes, I ponder what it is that I can learn from this FBC experience as a whole and the daily challenges.
Why? Because Silver Linings are so beautiful. Happiness is an attitude. No amount of pain (or FBC) in the world can take that away.
Become a Possibilitarian. No matter how dark things seem to be or actually are, raise your sight and see possibilities – always see them, for they are always there.
– Norman Vincent Peale