So I’ve been exhausted all this week, like, lay in bed all day tired. So I finally texted #bestdocever and said “Seriously I’m so fucking tired.” (Yep, we text, and we swear. Reason #583 why he’s #bestdocever.) Turns out my hematocrit is 25.9 today, which explains the fatigue, and I’m having a transfusion tomorrow.
When I’m this fatigued, my feelings tend to wash over me in ways they don’t when I’m feeling well. A friend told me today that leaning into it when it washes over you is a good idea, and that’s really good advice, so here I am, writing this post, hoping that processing will make me feel better. Here is what I’m feeling right now.
I hate that I can’t do stuff for my family, like a simple chore like doing the dishes, because I’m too tired. I hate that when I do try to do a simple chore, I feel winded like I’ve just run a marathon. I hate that I smell terrible because once again I was too tired to take a shower–and I hate that after a shower, I need to lay back down because I’m exhausted from the effort of taking a simple shower.
And even more so than any of that, I hate how I feel emotionally when I’m so tired. I find myself hating the life I’m living. Last week I had my regularly scheduled brain MRI, and I wasn’t even that nervous about the results, because I knew my tumor markers were still dropping and I knew it would probably be fine (and it was)–but I hated having to go have another scan, another IV, another day when I was tired and yet had to drag myself out of bed, out of the house, to lay in machine for another half an hour.
It washes over me how this is my life, this is going to be my life for the rest of my life, there will never be a time when I’m not getting scanned and poked at least every 3 months. This will go on for the rest of my life. I will always be living this half life, desperately trying to stay alive, not able to participate fully in the world, knowing all of this, all the treatment, will be futile someday.
I know I’ll feel better after the transfusion I’m having tomorrow, and that it’s really hard to live with the ongoing trauma of living with metastastic cancer, and it’s even harder when I’m physically down. I’m not into woo woo stuff about mind-body connections, but the reality is that when I’m physically weak, I have a lot more trouble being emotionally strong. Which is why it’s really just a rough time when I’m this fatigued.
I found myself apologizing to some friends for being pretty absent lately, and one of them said, “Don’t ever apologize to us again.” And when I heard that, I burst into tears, in a good way this time. I need to remind myself that my friends don’t expect me to be Superwoman. They know this shit is HARD and they’re OK with me not being that cancer patient who’s standing on top of a mountain being like “I refuse to let this slow me down.” That it’s perfect OK with them, and they’re not disappointed at all, when I can’t be that person. It’s a relief to know I’m not letting them down.
The Hubs says the same thing, too, when I tell him how useless I feel. He points out that I DO contribute to the family even when I’m feeling so down, and that I’m not letting him down. That he knows I’m not perfect, and he loves me anyway. All this support is so powerful, and it keeps me going when I’m at a nadir.
That’s it, I’m done now. Processing over, letting go of my guilt, and resting and hoping tomorrow brings better things. Like blood and energy and a return to my sunny disposition.