I always forget how long chemo recovery feels when I’m in the middle of feeling okay.
By treatment day, I’ve usually convinced myself it won’t be that bad this time. I’ve had enough rounds now that I know what to expect. I know what medications to take. I know when the nausea usually starts. I know to stock up on Diet Coke and easy foods and make sure the puke buckets have liners in them.
And then it hits anyway.
This round has kicked my ass.
Most of the last week has been spent moving between the bed and the couch. Sleeping when I can. Staring at the TV when I can’t. Picking up my phone, scrolling for a few minutes, and putting it right back down because even answering a text felt like work.
The nausea has been relentless. The headaches have been miserable. The bone pain has made everything hurt. Even the simple stuff takes more energy than it should.
I kept thinking I’d wake up and feel better the next day.
Then the next day would come and I’d still feel awful.
It’s a strange feeling because life keeps going while you’re stuck waiting for your body to cooperate. Emails pile up. Messages pile up. Laundry piles up. Dishes pile up. Everything sits there waiting while all your energy goes into surviving the day.
I know some people picture cancer as appointments and scans and treatment rooms.
Honestly, most of my time is spent here.
Recovering.
Trying to get through the side effects from the thing that’s supposed to keep me alive.
Trying to figure out if I have enough energy to shower.
Trying to eat something before taking medication.
Trying to stay awake long enough to watch a movie and then somehow falling asleep halfway through it anyway.
Pete has been doing what he always does. Making sure my drinks stay filled. Making sure I know where my meds are. Keeping puke buckets within reach. Sitting with me when I feel terrible and never making me feel like I’m asking too much.
There are moments during weeks like this where I look around and realize how much of this cancer he carries too.
Mojo has barely left my side either. He follows me from room to room, curls up next to me, and somehow always seems to know when it’s a bad day.
The last few days I’ve finally started feeling a little more human.
Food sounds good again.
The headaches aren’t quite as brutal.
I can stay awake for longer than an episode of TV.
It’s amazing how exciting those things become when you’ve spent a week feeling terrible.
I don’t think people realize how much of cancer exists in these in-between days. The days after treatment. The days where nobody is posting hospital photos or ringing bells or celebrating milestones.
Just regular days that feel anything but regular.
The days where getting out of bed is the accomplishment.
The days where a shower feels like progress.
The days where feeling slightly less awful feels like winning the lottery.
That’s what recovery has looked like around here this week.
Nothing inspirational.
Nothing profound.
Just one day at a time until my body decides it’s ready to come back to me.
And thankfully, I think it’s finally starting to.
If you’re new here, welcome to Mojo & The Mess.
The Homepage is where you’ll find the newest blogs and updates. The Resources page is filled with information for patients, caregivers, and families navigating cancer and chronic illness. If you’d like to help support the blog, the Keep Mojo & The Mess Going page has ways to help keep this space running and growing.
Thank you for reading, sharing, commenting, and continuing to show up here. It means more than you know.
Leave a comment