Saturday morning...I begin by saying thank you so much to so many people who have been following these disconnected writings of mine. People tell me they appreciate reading what I have to say but honestly, it becomes a form of therapy for me to get some of this written down. While it allows those who care to stay current with how I am doing, let it be honestly revealed I have my selfish motives for writing this blog as well. There...confession...I feel better.
It is about 48 hours since Chemo Round Three entered me. I am alert but have the familiar lack of appetite, slight nausea, and that too-tired-to-think feeling. I understand this is all a part of the regimen but it is still frustrating. Sometimes "chemo-brain" takes over and my thinking gets quite skewed.
I dreamed last night that I was a short-order cook in Brazil. I did not understand anyone because I don't speak Portuguese and the orders were backing up. People were yelling at me, weird little animals were skittering at my feet because the dining establishment was a dive to begin with, and my grill was getting more messy all the time. Finally I awoke in a sweat, quite relieved to find out it was all a dream. Now I don't put much stock in dreams. I am not looking for someone with Joseph-like insight to describe for me what all of this means. While it was genuinely weird, I think that it does encapsulate a bit of what is going on with me.
My brain is telling me there are many things I need to do and that this disease and its effects are keeping me from doing life well and I cannot understand how to get it all back in order again. My blessed wife reminds me to not be hard on myself but that doggone sense of responsibility that is either genetically transferred to me or drilled into me as a kid does not always allow me to wait well. To wait...well. Catch...a breath. Re...lax. God's...got this. Take...a breath...then...another. Whew. I've got to do this better.
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