So This Is What Tired Feels Like - So Far

I can’t bear to compare what I’m feeling now to the few days after my first son was born. It seems indecent. But there is a similarity in the sheer body exhaustion. I just don’t remember crying as much.  And of course, there's no baby as a reward. Plus, I knew then that every day would get easier, and the fatigue would lift, but I now have no idea what I’m facing. It’s hard to imagine I’ll feel this tired, maybe way more tired, for the next six months.

I got a phone call today from Louisa, the woman who works at my insurance broker. She calls every couple of years when I’m late on my car or house insurance payment. We’ve never met, but we’ve known each other for over 20 years. She called to say I hadn't paid my house insurance. I vaguely remember receiving a notice a couple of months ago. I apologized to her, and started crying.

I apologized and cried. To Louisa. From the insurance broker.

Then, when one of my kids’ dads called to check how I was doing, I cried when I told him I had cried when Louisa called to tell me I’d forgotten to pay my home insurance. 

Then, when my friend Jane came by to drop off some food, I cried when I told her that I had cried when Louisa from the insurance broker called to tell me I’d forgotten to pay my home insurance.

It’s been that kind of a day.

If you’re not used to fatigue - and I’m not - it’s a sneaky fucker. I got up and made lunches, woke the kids, walked the 10 yr old to school, and talked to my neighbour about the chemo. It felt like a normal pre-cancer day, except for the chemo conversation. Then everything started feeling just a little heavy. Like I was pushing harder than usual to throw a load of laundry in and gather up a selection of tops. Then I went to see my friend Janet, because one day post-chemo seemed like the perfect time to get a head shot taken. Janet's a great photographer, and I’ve been meaning to do it, and even though I’m really tired, I secretly wonder if I’ll ever look this good again.

By the time I got home at 2:00 pm, I’d used up almost every bit of energy I had – leaving only enough to take Louisa's call, and cry to her, and cry again to everyone I talked to about Louisa.

I’m not used to running out of gas.

The feeling of heaviness lifted for a while in the evening, when I stood with my boys and their dads to light the eight candles for the last night of Hannukah. Then my 14 year old showed me the progress on the reno of the master bathroom in his dads' house. We danced a little waltz on the expansive white marble floor. He had been too embarrassed to dance with me at his Bar Mitzvah in May, so I think this was our first formal dance.

 I’ll check off the days of exhaustion as I go along. Wednesday December 4:  Day 1

Comments

Aviva, The driver is crappy, but the writing just gets better and better. It takes courage to expose yourself like that.

Please keep writing and expressing yourself. I find writing powerful and cathartic and being a cancer SURVIVOR I can relate your fears and frustration. What you say matters and makes a difference. When you have bad days, write 'em down and leave them on paper. When you have good ones (and I wish you ONLY good ones) write 'em down and then retread your words when you need a little extra strength. Your honesty is empowering and inspiring. I look forward to getting to know you better.

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