A few years ago, summer looked like beach bags thrown in the car at the last minute, sunburns that seemed like a good idea at the time, and staying outside way longer than anyone probably should in Florida.
Now I check the weather app like it’s medical information.
Ninety-six degrees.
Feels like one hundred and seven.
Humidity somewhere around “breathing soup.”
Good to know.
The heat hits differently now.
Part of it is chemo. Part of it is anemia. Part of it is medications that seem determined to dry out every cell in your body. Part of it is the fact that my body is already spending so much energy just existing that asking it to survive a Florida summer on top of everything else feels borderline rude.
There was a time I could spend all day outside and think nothing of it.
Now there are days the walk from the parking lot into Publix has me questioning my choices.
Days where I can’t tell if I’m overheated, dehydrated, weak, nauseous, or if the answer is simply yes.
Days where I sit in my car for an extra minute with the air conditioning blasting before I convince myself to move.
Chemo tired is different.
Not sleepy tired.
Not stayed-up-too-late tired.
Heavy tired.
The kind where your legs feel heavier than they should. The kind where carrying groceries feels weirdly ambitious and folding laundry somehow becomes the main event for the day.
Then there’s treatment week.
The grocery run beforehand.
The medication refills.
The electrolyte packets.
The cleaning spree because somehow my brain has convinced itself that if the house is clean enough maybe chemo won’t notice me.
Spoiler alert: it notices.
The labs still have to be good enough.
The methotrexate still happens.
The treatment still happens.
Cancer doesn’t pause because it’s July.
Neither does Florida.
The beach is still full.
The tourists are still sunburned.
The humidity is still disrespectful.
Life keeps moving whether your body wants to participate or not.
So this year’s summer looks different.
It’s electrolyte packets next to beach towels.
Portable fans that have somehow become essential medical equipment.
Choosing shade over sunshine.
Knowing where the nearest chair is at all times.
Celebrating making it through an errand without needing a recovery nap.
Learning there is absolutely no prize for pretending you’re not tired.
This wasn’t the summer I pictured for myself.
Honestly, a lot of things weren’t.
But there are still sunsets over the water.
Still fireworks.
Still cold drinks that somehow taste better in July than they do any other month of the year.
Still moments that feel like summer even if they don’t look like they used to.
Maybe that’s what Sick Girl Summer actually is.
Not missing summer.
Just learning how to do it differently.
If you’re new here, welcome to Mojo & The Mess.
You’ll find honest stories about stage IV cancer, treatment, life with a service dog who takes his supervisory role very seriously, resources for patients and caregivers, and the dark humor that sometimes becomes a survival skill.
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