––you attempt to walk to the bus stop and find you have to stop halfway so you can puke.
I’m lucky I’m married to a man I can’t embarrass.
I was trying to get to an appointment yesterday morning and I really thought I could do it. But I’m in the second half of treatment now and the side effects are getting a bit more intense. The V is bigger, the angle is steeper, and there are a few more bad days at the nadir than before.
So what was my first thought? That anyone seeing me would think I’d been drinking at 10:00 a.m. Like that’s my biggest worry––what will the neighbours say? Old reflexes die hard, I guess.
We managed to get to a different, closer bus shelter on the way, so it wasn’t like I was right out in the middle of the sidewalk where I could gross out the general public. Chris held onto me, reassuring me until I felt steady enough to get back to the house, which was maybe all of a block away.
Pretty dismaying but that’s how it is. Sometimes you’re doing the mambo with your IV pole and other times you’re puking at bus stops. Since then I’ve been okay but I haven’t attempted anything more ambitious than going from one room to another.
Next week is round five out of six total. We’re nearing the home stretch. It’s okay. Every so often I take out the latest progress report letter from the oncologist and look at what it says about how I’ve been responding to chemo. It’s good news all the way through––the cancer cells are dying off and there’s some other reading that has been reduced to a third of what it was before I started chemo.
And so what if I puke a little, even in public? I’m getting there. I’m getting there. I’m getting there!