I didn’t think I could handle anything else.
Chemo already feels like too much.
Like… my body is constantly trying to recover from something it hasn’t even finished going through yet. There’s no real break. No reset. Just this cycle of feeling a little better and then getting hit again.
And now they’re adding radiation.
To my head.
I keep trying to act like it’s just part of the plan.
Like, okay—this is what we’re doing next.
But it doesn’t feel simple like that.
It feels like everything is stacking.
The fatigue from chemo hasn’t gone anywhere. The nausea hasn’t gone anywhere. The brain fog is already there… and now we’re about to target the place that controls all of it.
My brain.
And I’m supposed to just sit there and trust that this helps more than it hurts.
Chemo already makes you feel like you’re not fully in your body.
Radiation to your head feels like risking the parts of you that make you you.
Your thoughts.
Your balance.
Your memory.
Your personality.
That’s the part no one really says out loud.
I think what’s hitting me the most is that there’s no space between this.
It’s not like one treatment ends and then you regroup.
It’s both.
At the same time.
So there’s no “catching your breath.”
No moment where your body gets to just exist without something actively happening to it.
It’s just… more.
And I know people mean well when they say things like
“at least they have a plan” or
“you’re doing everything you can.”
But living inside that plan feels a lot different than hearing about it.
Because the plan isn’t just appointments on a calendar.
It’s how I feel every day.
It’s how hard it is to get up sometimes.
It’s the constant awareness that my body is going through something serious, even when I’m trying to act normal.
Some moments I’m okay.
I can sit there, go to the appointments, answer the questions, pretend I’ve got it together.
Other moments, I’m just tired.
Not even in a dramatic way.
Just… tired of having to keep adjusting to something new.
Mojo knows.
He always does.
He stays closer on the days I don’t feel good. Follows me around like he’s checking on me without making it obvious.
And somehow that helps more than most things.
Because everything else feels so clinical right now.
And he just reminds me I’m still here.
I don’t know what this part is going to look like yet.
I don’t know how my body is going to handle it or what’s coming with it.
I just know I didn’t get a choice in this part.
So I’m showing up anyway.
Even if it’s messy.
Even if it’s not strong or inspiring or anything like that.
Just… showing up.
If you’re in this place too—where it feels like things keep getting added before you’ve even had time to process the last thing—
I get it.
It’s a lot.
And you don’t have to pretend it’s not.
♥️
If you’re here, thank you for reading—for sitting in the real parts with me.
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Life’s a mess.
Keep going. ♡
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