I'm beginning to see the pattern: I slog through the first few days after chemo, thanks to steroids and other medications, and then comes the crash, a little longer and more intense this time than last. The worst is the acidity in my gut and the brine taste in my mouth, not to mention the drag-ass exhaustion. It's hard to imagine doing this again and again. But luckily, that's all: only two more "again"s and I move on to a different kind of chemo, weekly Taxol, which many women tolerate better than this biweekly cocktail of Adriamycin and Cytoxan.
|I may make it to the gym in the morning, but by afternoon, I can't quite stay vertical.|
|Hard working dog.|
|Snow-shoeing expedition aborted - I wanted to lay down in the snow and sleep.|
In the last few days, I've found hair on my clothes, hair on my pillow, hair on the keyboard. Last night, after pulling yet another hair from my food, I decided to call it quits. "Get out the clippers," I told J~, "it's time."