Chemotherapy's Prisoner

There is a taste in my mouth

There is a scent when I breathe

There is a feeling in my body

That I can't escape from

It's chemotherapy

And it follows me

It follows me

It follows me

There is no shower I can take

There is no oil, no lotion I can use

There is no activity to do

That will make it go away 

It's chemotherapy 

And it follows me

It follows me

It follows me

No tears will vanquish it

No screams will destroy it

No comfort will dull it

It is here to stay

It's chemotherapy 

And it follows me

It follows me

It follows me

My hair will grow back

My taste will return

I'll run and laugh again

But I will never forget

The chemotherapy

It will follow me

It will follow me

It will follow me

It's an incredibly depressing poem, it's also horribly accurate. The last 3 months have been insanely difficult.  The first 2 months of treatment were atrocious. I didn't update because I physically couldn't. It was a different problem every few days. The bed and the dark bedroom was the only place that offered refuge. But as it often happens, the best thing can be the worst thing, and my refuge would feel more like a prison. I could hear my family in the other room. Living. And I couldn't join them. I would lay in bed and wonder, 

        'Do they know? Do they know I want to be out there? Do they know how my heart breaks that I can't join them?'  

   Whatever the reason was that I couldn't get out of bed, pain, sickness, exhaustion, I knew going into the other room would just make it harder to deal with. So I stayed in bed and tried to sleep. I quickly discovered that while your body may tire out fast, your mind doesn't. You have to find ways to wear out your brain so your body can rest. That's a pain. Reading isn't enough, so I had to do something I hadn't before, download games on my phone. The kids have games on my phone, but I've only ever had one or two, and I typically delete them pretty quick. They help, thankfully. I also like recording Bryan playing the guitar without his knowledge.  

   Getting used to only having the energy to not pee in bed, (that is not an exaggeration) is near impossible. You used to get up and do all sorts of things without thinking about them.  Suddenly, you can only get out of bed, make it to the bathroom, and then make it far enough to collapse back in bed.  A few hours later you are able to walk all the way to the kitchen, sit at the table and rest, then shovel a quick and easy food into your mouth.  It can't take prep, it has to be open and eat, like fruit or veggies, because it takes too long and you are already so worn out you have your head laying on the table.  So baby carrots are a staple for me now.  You eventually get up and make it back to the bed, where you stay for a few more hours, praying you don't have to pee or eat again.  Because you are just that fatigued.  

    Unfortunately, it is also near impossible not to compare yourself now, to yourself before chemo treatments began.  'Comparison is the thief of joy'. Never has that been more true to me. I keep praying I'll do well on this journey, make the choices that will keep me from being bitter, depressed or angry. And it's a struggle. Every day is difficult, every day I have to choose. I have to do it throughout the day, as well. I have to remind myself that this is all temporary.  That it will be over in a few months, and then it will become something that happened awhile ago.  Until then, I choose laughter.