I used to plan my life by weekends and holidays.
Now I plan it by how close I am to my next infusion.
Chemo doesn’t just live in my body — it runs my calendar.
Everything I do now has an invisible question behind it:
Will I feel okay that day?
I don’t think people realize how much of your life becomes a guessing game when you’re in treatment. You don’t wake up and “decide” to cancel. Your body decides for you. Sometimes I feel fine one hour and completely wrecked the next. So I stopped planning like the old me did. I had to.
Now I think in cycles instead of weeks.
There’s infusion day — when I show up tired but hopeful, trying to be brave while pretending I’m not scared. I pack my bag with snacks I probably won’t eat, my comfiest clothes, and little things that remind me I’m still me.
Then come the days after. The crash. The heaviness. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. The nausea that shows up whenever it wants. Those are the days I disappear a little. I stay in bed. I don’t answer texts. I let the world move without me.
A few days later I can move again, but I’m not fully back. My brain feels foggy. My body feels foreign. I try to do small things and pretend they’re normal.
And then, for a short window, I feel almost like myself. Those are the days I hold close. The days I write, laugh, sit in the sun, feel like I belong to the world again. I protect them like they’re fragile — because they are.
Then the anxiety creeps in. The countdown starts again. Another appointment. Another round. Another goodbye to the version of me who felt okay.
I don’t make hard plans anymore.
I say “maybe” instead of “yes.”
I leave room for rest.
I cancel without explaining.
I choose softness over pressure.
The hardest part isn’t the planning — it’s mourning the girl I used to be.
The one who didn’t think twice about tomorrow.
The one who made plans without fear.
The one who didn’t need a recovery day just for existing.
But this is who I am now.
And this is how I survive.
If you’re living this too, I see you.
You’re not lazy.
You’re not weak.
You’re doing the best you can with a body that is fighting for you and against you at the same time.
Mojo 🐾
When I lay on the couch counting the days until I feel like myself again, Mojo curls into my side like he’s guarding what’s left of me.
He doesn’t care about the calendar.
He just knows I’m still here.
And so are you
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