Well, the oncologist told me that fatigue is one of the side effects of the hormones. Considering the hormones seem to be extending my life, possibly saving it outright, it seems churlish to complain.
Yeah, that’s me: Churlish Cadigan, scourge of the sofa. When I can stay awake, that is. Not that I’m necessarily asleep, though. Often I’m in a state where, uh…um… … … … … … Uh, was I saying something?
I haven’t talked about it much because I thought it would pass with April. The transition between seasons, especially when there’s a time-change involved, gets a little more difficult every year. This year, I’m still jet-lagged even as we near the end of May and look toward the longest day of the year coming up in June.
And I have no energy at all. None whatsoever. Whatever it is, if I can’t do it sitting down, it’s not getting done. Not by me, anyway.
I’ve been telling myself I’m feeling the side effects from the hormones so strongly because there isn’t a whole lot of cancer left for them to kick around. That makes perfect sense to me. I can stand anything that stomps those rotten cancer cells. Night sweats? No big deal for a badass like me. I can even ride out the anxiety attacks, which, as anxiety attacks go, are pretty mild. Knowing the disturbances in mood are also hormone side effects gives me an edge in coping (I didn’t have them before I started taking hormones and the oncologist agrees it’s another side effect).
My next check-up is at the end of the June. I would like to become more mobile between now and then. I wanted living with cancer to have more bouncing around, more socialising, more occasions to put on my technicolor Doc Martens, strut out the door, and fck sh!t up.
I keep trying to punch my way out of this fatigue bubble because I know that eventually I’ll hit a weak spot. I always do. Then it’ll be a party!
Maybe after I finish staring at nothing. I mean, nothing’s going to stare at itself, right?