Thursday, December 31, 2015
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Friday, December 25, 2015
Thursday, December 24, 2015
If you don't know what that is, you're obviously not of Norwegian/Scandinavian descent. Ha!
In my family, we've always celebrated "little Christmas". In Norway, people open gifts on Christmas Eve. We still open our presents on Christmas morning, but the elves fill our stockings on LITTLE Christmas Eve, so we open them on Christmas Eve morning. Takes a little bit of the Christmas anticipation edge off, and makes you the envy of all the other kids when you get something from Santa before anyone else!
Christmas Eve is also the last visit from Heart. Our busy little elf will be going back home to the North Pole tomorrow night - Christmas Eve - until next year. As you can see, she had to get all dressed up for her final performance this Christmas season.
Today is also a special day for another reason: it marks the final step in the reconstruction process for me. This afternoon I had an appointment at my plastic surgery clinic with the tattoo artist. Guess what? Almost two years exactly from the day I had my breasts removed, I have complete breasts again. They were constructed from fat from other parts of my body, they are scarred, they have little to no feeling and the nipples are fake. But they look like breasts. Finally.
I have to wear bandages on them for five days and may need a touch-up session in a few months (because scar areas don't absorb the ink the same way as regular skin so it might look uneven), but over the next month or so, I should be able to look down and see something I haven't seen since January 3, 2014.
God willing, this will be the last in the long line of tests, procedures, treatments and surgeries I've endured over the last 27 months. I hope to stay on this end of the cancer battle, only seeing my doctors every six months for them to tell me "everything looks good". If the worst things I have to complain about are my achy joints, restless legs and extra ten (or thirty) pounds, I'm calling it good.
Merry Little Christmas Eve.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Scheduling a trip to Dallas the week of Christmas isn't my idea of fun, but when you've maxed out your insurance three years in a row, you learn to fit as much into a calendar year as possible while it's paid 100%! Tomorrow's appointment is at my plastic surgeon's office. Unfortunately Dr T is out of the office, so another doctor will have to see me. Just what I want, someone ELSE looking at my naked chest. Ha. One of the worst things about going to the plastic surgeon is that they take pictures. Lots of pictures. One of the best things about going to the plastic surgeon is that I don't have to get on the scale.
This appointment should be the final step in my reconstruction process, and then I can hopefully be on "see you in six months" visits with ALL of my doctors.
845 days.... about damn time.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Someone send get better vibes to my house.
My issues are nothing new. Everything hurts. BAD. My knees crack when I stand up, sit down or climb stairs. I have no strength in my wrists or elbows and even my ankles feel the hurt. I have a newfound sympathy for people who suffer from arthritis. It sucks.
I can't sleep because I can't sleep and because everything gets restless as soon as my back hits the bed, especially my legs. I'm trying a switcheroo today and taking my Arimidex (a.k.a. the devil) at night in hopes of being more awake during the day and more sleepy during the night. We shall see.
The other day J stepped on a piece of glass in the bathroom. We're guessing it was from a light bulb Hubby dropped which then broke. Poor guy has been limping for days. We think the glass splinter is gone, but it's hard to tell on the bottom of a foot. He somehow hurt his back, too, and has confiscated my back massage pillow. I love that he gets a good workout in during off-season football, but it makes me worry a little bit that he might overdo it with the weights.
Today was just another in a string of bad days for K. She had a bad stomach ache at school and had to leave before her Christmas party even began. Monday she stayed home because she still wasn't feeling good after being sick (throwing up) on Sunday. At her softball tournament Saturday she hit herself in the mouth with her bat and busted her lip and cut her gum. Luckily the tooth she hit is a baby tooth.
Hubby is the only one with no real issues right now, other than his usual aches and pains and some sniffles. It's probably just a matter of time before the other shoe drops.
Then we can all be miserable for Christmas!
Sunday, December 13, 2015
I feel like a newborn baby who has her nights and days mixed up.
I wonder when I will ever have a good night's sleep again. I'm sleepy when I wake up. I'm exhausted by late afternoon. I make myself go to bed around 10-11pm. Then I wake up all night long. And when I do sleep, I have crazy, crazy dreams.
4am seems to be my magic hour. I wake up, almost wide awake, around that time every night. Nothing is wrong. I usually get up to use the bathroom. I'll wander to the kitchen to get a drink. Sometimes I'll check the weather on my computer. Then I go back to bed, eventually fall back asleep, and then curse my alarm when it goes off an hour or two later.
Yesterday I dozed on the couch for more than an hour. I guess that little bit was enough to keep me up. I made myself go to bed at midnight. I tossed and turned, made it through a couple of hot flashes by flipping my pillow over to the cooler side, and finally gave up a few minutes ago.
If the rain hasn't put a damper on it, we have to be at the fields by 7am for an 8am softball game. Getting up at 5:45 is going to be loads of fun when I'm still wide awake at 1am.
I miss the days when I could fall asleep anywhere and sleep through an apocalypse.
Think Hubby would notice if I tried this?
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
I could not have written anything more eloquent or more accurate about life after cancer.
Sailing the Waves of Cancer
It’s been four years since my diagnosis with stage II breast cancer: One and a half of them I spent in treatment, the other two and a half I spent dealing with the aftermath.
As time passes, and my emotional ship sails in relative equilibrium for longer stretches, I try to spend more time on the deck, taking in my surroundings, living in the moment. Then cancer sends up a flare in the distance and my attention is shifted: A random pain, tightness in my chest, or some extra fatigue. These bright, red burning lights remind me it is always there, hovering, perhaps waiting to attack again.
Sometimes cancer is a cannon, launching its missile close enough to graze my bow, as it has recently. When I hear that close friends, young friends, healthy friends have been diagnosed, I begin to sway. I know they will soon begin building their own ship and join the growing fleet that surrounds me of loving, faithful, undeserving patients. I mourn for their loss of the “old normal.” I know what it does to you.
I have to sit back and powerlessly watch during the excruciating 2-3 weeks it takes to learn everything they can about their enemy through scans and tests, and formulate their plan of attack. Nothing can be done to slow down or speed up that time.
I can tell them what I know from experience: that this is the worst of it, this first part. Shifting uncomfortably in scratchy, paper gowns as you wait in sterile, silent exam rooms; the inability to get the smell of hand sanitizer out of your nose; shaking hands with one doctor after another as he or she flips through your life, which has been neatly assembled onto a clipboard. How you can go from feeling normal to completely despondent, sometimes within the same ten-minute span. That ache, burning in your chest, as you inhale yesterday’s Suave when you bend down and kiss your children’s heads as they sleep, wondering how many more nights you’ll get to do it. I can prepare them and reassure them, but in the end they will sail through it on their own just as we all do.
Cancer’s most effective attacks come with news of a recurrence. So far it hasn’t been mine, but the disease has resurfaced in people I love. It rips a hole in my side, allowing the visions and fears of my own eventual diagnosis to flood in. This is when family, friends and sometimes professionals come help bail out panic by the bucketful as I struggle to stay afloat. Even though objectively every person’s experience is unique, if you’ve had cancer, it’s impossible not to see yourself in both the successes and disappointments of your peers who have it, too.
Sometimes I wish I could distance myself from my armada, because when their seas are rough, I can’t help but toss along with them. I want to pull away and go back to my views of the shore as I sail on my own, calm water. But there is an unspoken family in cancer and there is strength in numbers. By sharing information, support and love, we break through the chop, making it easier for those behind us; but that doesn’t make it easy.
By remaining a resource, it’s impossible to rid myself of my memories. I can’t stop my heart from breaking at news of a friend who has been diagnosed with cancer, either newly or with a recurrence. I also can’t help but scrape wounds that had only just started to heal in me after my own experience. My BRCA2 didn’t only damage my genes. It attacked my soul.
Most who have crossed the ocean of cancer often end up with some PTSD, and I am not immune. A smell, taste or even a certain item of clothing, can trigger a memory of a dark day, sending me into a spiral of depressive thoughts. Seeing a stranger in a bandana, with penciled-in eyebrows still both repels me and makes me long to talk to them. It’s hard to look and not be thrown back into days filled with chairs in a row, IV poles next to each, a rainbow of poisons connected to chests and elbows, all in an attempt to fend off death. Still, I want to approach these individuals, to tell them if I can do it, so can they. Most often I settle for an “I’m in the club, too” nod and smile.
Maybe by year five I’ll learn how to cruise my cancer seas more effectively. To better balance my desire and responsibility to help others with my own need to get some emotional distance from the experience. I need both to feel whole, but the equation of how they best fit together in my life has yet to present itself.
Until then I will sail along, offering what I can, taking in vistas, and learning as I go.
By Betsy Hnath
Monday, December 7, 2015
K loves our elf. I mean loves our elf. She started counting down in November, saying she couldn't wait until Heart gets here. She asks me every night if I will wake her up early so she can look for Heart. The joy she gets from this silly little tradition is amazing. Even my fourteen year old asks every morning, "Where's Heart?".
That's the part I love.
The parts I hate? Having to a) remember to move the darn elf every night (which I mostly do thanks to the reminder on my phone!), b) staying up later than my kids, which isn't always easy! and c) thinking of new and creative things for Heart to do. Ugh.
I've seen a lot of ideas passed on through Facebook and Pinterest. There are a lot of desperate elf owners out there. We've done the roasting marshmallows over a candle bit. Heart has made minions on the bananas with a Sharpie. Last year she toilet papered our Christmas tree. But frankly, who has the time for most of that? I just don't have a miniature toothbrush hanging around so our elf can pretend to brush her teeth. I don't want to sit and build a fort out of Legos so she can have a snowball fight with marshmallows. Our house is only so big, and this is our third year of Heart appearances, so I'm running out of places for her to creatively hide.
This morning Heart was taking in the sunrise from our front door.
If only Hubby would let me have a fire in the fireplace, our Christmas card scene would be complete.
Monday, November 30, 2015
(If you think it's a little dramatic, you've probably never "you have cancer")
“What’s it like to go through cancer treatment?"
It’s something like this:
One day, you’re minding your own business, you open the fridge to get some breakfast, and OH MY GOD THERE’S A MOUNTAIN LION IN YOUR FRIDGE.
Wait, what? How? Why is there a mountain lion in your fridge? NO TIME TO EXPLAIN. RUN! THE MOUNTAIN LION WILL KILL YOU! UNLESS YOU FIND SOMETHING EVEN MORE FEROCIOUS TO KILL IT FIRST!
So you take off running, and the mountain lion is right behind you. You know the only thing that can kill a mountain lion is a bear, and the only bear is on top of the mountain, so you better find that bear. You start running up the mountain in hopes of finding the bear. Your friends desperately want to help, but they are powerless against mountain lions, as mountain lions are godless killing machines. But they really want to help, so they’re cheering you on and bringing you paper cups of water and orange slices as you run up the mountain and yelling at the mountain lion - “GET LOST, MOUNTAIN LION, NO ONE LIKES YOU” - and you really appreciate the support, but the mountain lion is still coming.
Also, for some reason, there’s someone in the crowd who’s yelling “that’s not really a mountain lion, it’s a puma” and another person yelling “I read that mountain lions are allergic to kale, have you tried rubbing kale on it?”
As you’re running up the mountain, you see other people fleeing their own mountain lions. Some of the mountain lions seem comparatively wimpy - they’re half grown and only have three legs or whatever, and you think to yourself - why couldn’t I have gotten one of those mountain lions? But then you look over at the people who are fleeing mountain lions the size of a monster truck with huge prehistoric saber fangs, and you feel like an asshole for even thinking that - besides, who in their right mind would want to fight a mountain lion, even a three-legged one?
Finally, the person closest to you, whose job it is to take care of you - maybe a parent or sibling or best friend or, in my case, my husband - comes barging out of the woods and jumps on the mountain lion, whaling on it and screaming “GODDAMMIT MOUNTAIN LION, STOP TRYING TO EAT MY WIFE,” and the mountain lion punches your husband right in the face. Now your husband (or whatever) is rolling around on the ground clutching his nose, and he’s bought you some time, but you still need to get to the top of the mountain.
Eventually you reach the top, finally, and the bear is there. Waiting. For both of you. You rush right up to the bear, and the bear rushes the mountain lion, but the bear has to go through you to get to the mountain lion, and in doing so, the bear TOTALLY KICKS YOUR ASS, but not before it also punches your husband in the face. And your husband is now staggering around with a black eye and bloody nose, and saying “can I get some help, I’ve been punched in the face by two apex predators and I think my nose is broken,” and all you can say is “I’M KIND OF BUSY IN CASE YOU HADN’T NOTICED I’M FIGHTING A MOUNTAIN LION.”
Then, IF YOU ARE LUCKY, the bear leaps on the mountain lion and they are locked in epic battle until finally the two of them roll off a cliff edge together, and the mountain lion is dead.
Maybe. You’re not sure - it fell off the cliff, but mountain lions are crafty. It could come back at any moment.
And all your friends come running up to you and say “that was amazing! You’re so brave, we’re so proud of you! You didn’t die! That must be a huge relief!”
Meanwhile, you blew out both your knees, you’re having an asthma attack, you twisted your ankle, and also you have been mauled by a bear. And everyone says “boy, you must be excited to walk down the mountain!”
And all you can think as you stagger to your feet is “f*ck this mountain, I never wanted to climb it in the first place.”
Sunday, November 22, 2015
17 Things No One Tells You About Breast Cancer
There are so many "myths" and misconceptions about breast cancer. The ones I'm struggling with now are #15 and #16. For two years my life revolved around tests and procedures designed to rid my body of breast cancer. I had mammograms, ultrasounds, MRIs, CT scans, a bone scan, a PET scan, biopsies, blood draws, chemotherapy (8 treatments over 5 months), surgeries (7 to this date) and radiation (33 treatments). As you can imagine, that is all-consuming and pretty much took over my focus. I've skated through being a wife and mom, a daughter, sister and friend. Thankfully I have incredible people who love me and forgive me for that. The bottom line is when you have cancer, you have no choice but to be selfish and focus 100% on yourself.
But then, after all of that, after 815 days of that, what's next? Yes I am healthy. Yes I am better than I have been in over two years. I have no signs of cancer so I live with the mantra "no news is good news" every single day. But that doesn't mean I'm "over it". Here's why:
- The fear never leaves. Never. I wonder every day if that will be the day that cancer comes back. I don't have routine scans, so I have no "proof" that stupid little cancer cells aren't lurking somewhere. I worry about every ache and pain, every bump and lump, because I can't help it. I'm not a pessimist. I'm a realist. I've already faced the worst case scenario, so it's impossible not to go there again, at least in my mind.
- My body is living proof of my fight. I've gained weight. My hair is short and almost 100% gray. I have limited range of motion in my left shoulder and almost zero feeling in my chest and under my arm thanks to my surgeries. And the scars, oh the scars. I look like I've been pieced together like Frankenstein. Not kidding. Obviously there are scars on my chest, but also on my stomach and legs. I will never again look good in a bathing suit. For someone who has struggled with low self esteem forever, looking at myself is a low blow. Every time. Yes, being alive is beautiful, and being a strong fighter is beautiful. But my body is not beautiful.
- Everything hurts. And I'm so incredibly tired. I was thrown into menopause at age 41. Menopause is no fun anyway, but for it to happen instantly is really no fun. And thanks to chemo after-effects and the estrogen blocker I'm on, I have bone and joint pain. Every time I stand up, I do it slowly like an old woman. My knees crack on every step when I climb stairs. I have restless legs every single night (and sometimes during the day). I take medicine to counter the side effects of other medicines.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
One night the outside of my right knee was the problem. I heated up my rice bag and put it on there.... settled right down.
Tonight I am sitting on the couch with my heating pad over my knees to keep my legs still. So far so good.
Unfortunately, in addition to restless legs syndrome, hot flashes are also a side effect of Arimidex.
FYI Heat does NOT help with hot flashes.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Even without cancer. Family issues, family health issues, friend issues, parenting issues....
It's so hard.
This is what the side of my refrigerator looks like:
The medicine I take every day is in the cabinet right next to that. Every morning, as I swallow pills that will hopefully keep me alive for a long time, I stare at the side of my fridge.
That's my whole world. Right there.
My husband. My children.
My mom and my dad.
And Allyson, the angel I look to for hope and strength when life gets too hard. She was the queen of pep talks, and if she couldn't come up with a pep talk, then she would crack a joke. Or give a great hug.
Even though I had a fantastic weekend away (which will be a post for another day), tonight, life is HARD.
But it's my life, and it's a life full of those blessings right there.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
How many times have you thought that? How many times have you said that? How many times has something happened to remind you of that?
As I sit here at my laptop today, coughing and hacking and cursing the world because I have the cold from hell, my eyes are watering, it's freaking windy outside, my joints ache from my new medicine and every night I have the worst restless legs.....I came across a blurb on Facebook that Joey Feek (one half of the country duo Joey & Rory) said goodbye to her daughters.
Oh my freaking God.
I don't know her. Even though I listen to country music, I couldn't even tell you one of their songs. I don't know how old she is and can't even remember what kind of cancer she has. All I know is that she's a beautiful woman, a loving mom and is going to have to leave this world way too young. She knows she is going to die soon, and she had to say goodbye to her children.
Life is too short!
None of us know when we will die. But I can just about bet that anyone who has been diagnosed with cancer has thought about it. I have. I was told at age 40 that I had stage III cancer. Um, I'm still supposed to have more than half of my life to live. Knowing I'm going to do that with the worry that cancer might come back sucks. Plain and simple. Knowing that, and knowing I have a husband who is my whole world and children whom I love dearly..... there are no words.
Cancer isn't always a death sentence. I know that. But cancer is everywhere, and more often than not, the beast wins. I'm a fighter, and an optimist, but the worry is there. Always. After eight rounds of chemo, thirty-three rounds of radiation, seven surgeries.... will I have to do this all again someday? If I do, and it doesn't work, how do you find the words to say goodbye to the people who make your world brighter?
Kind of makes my stupid cold seem insignificant.
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
I do have to own up to the fact that this was my choice, though. I'd been through this surgery before, and I knew the result. It HURTS.
Monday, September 28, 2015
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Yesterday I had surgery.
Yes, another one. That makes 7 surgeries in the last two years. I am hopeful that this is the last one, because really - enough is enough.
It was a quick procedure and I was out of the hospital around lunchtime. I feel ok, just very sore. And I have to wear the lovely compression garments for two weeks, which makes getting dressed and going to the bathroom a workout.
Plastic surgery is not for wimps!!
I'm thankful that Hubby was there with me... as he has been for every step of this long, painful journey. He's always there to make me laugh, comfort me, hold me up or just hold my hand. His quiet, steady presence is one of the greatest blessings in my life.
Let the healing begin!
Monday, September 21, 2015
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Friday, September 18, 2015
There seems to be a pattern I've developed where I can go about my business as usual for a while...going to work, dealing with softball league business, being wife and mom... until I hit a wall. Yesterday I hit that wall. I was sitting on the couch when Hubby came home from work and could hardly keep my eyes open. (Ok, ok, I was sleeping.) I told him I was going to lie down for an hour.... and woke up four hours later.
I don't know if this recurring fatigue can be blamed on the medicine I have to take, or the fact that I'm in menopause at 42 years old, or just due to everything I've been through since d-day. It's not going to get better anytime soon because I'm scheduled for another surgery next Friday. That will be surgery number seven in the last 25 months. Some have been pretty major, some have been "minor". This one is supposed to fall in the latter category, but I've learned not to expect things to go as planned. One thing cancer isn't is predictable.
Last, but definitely not least, September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month. Before all of the hype of "Pink-tober" next month, take a minute to pray for the women affected by this silent killer. Ovarian cancer is the monster that took my friend Allyson way too soon. If you can, donate to a worthy cause...
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Lately I've been doing a lot of thinking about forgiveness. A lot of thinking.
When someone wrongs you, it's human nature to be hurt, angry, even vindictive. We all feel that way. Some of us work through those feelings faster than others. Some people forgive more easily than others.
Ephesians 4:31-32 Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.I get it. We are all sinners. Who are we to judge a sinner, when none of us are without sin?
The Bible says it over and over:
Matthew 6:14 For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.
Luke 6:37 Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven.
Romans 3:23 For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.
1 John 1:8 If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.I will be the first to admit that I've made my share of mistakes in my life, and would never claim to be without sin. I also will be the first to admit that I have a soft-hearted, forgiving nature. I try to see the best in people. If I make a mistake, I own up to it and apologize. And if I apologize, I sincerely mean it. 'I'm sorry' means I really am sorry..
Six months ago, I made a decision. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life, and it caused more emotional upheaval for me and my family than I can even describe. Someone I was very close to had been doing something wrong - something illegal - and I was the one to discover it. It caused me a huge amount of distress because I loved and trusted this person. Not only were laws broken, but my friendship was abused and taken advantage of - for a long time. Years.
It made my heart hurt, because my doing the right thing brought hurt down on other people, including my own family. I lost a close friend. My daughter lost her best friend. I lost other people in my life that I thought were my friends. These people have found it easy to forgive, claiming they won't turn their back on a friend for making a "mistake".
A mistake. Yelling at someone is a mistake. Writing on the wall with a Sharpie is a mistake. Running over a mailbox is a mistake. Getting a speeding ticket is a mistake. Deceiving the people closest to you, day after day, month after month, and taking from the very ones you proclaim to love... that's not a mistake.
Have I forgiven? Can I forgive? That's what I'm struggling with.
Just as the Bible talks a lot about the need for forgiveness by the person who was wronged, it also talks about the need to repent by the wrong-doer.
Acts 2:38 And Peter said to them, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.
Luke 17:3 So watch yourselves. If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.The definition of "repent" is to feel or show that you are sorry for something bad or wrong that you did and that you want to do what is right. The need for forgiveness can be a burden, if the offender hasn't repented.
The crimes that were committed, the lies that were told.... this person has been doing this same thing their whole adult life. They've been caught - and punished - repeatedly, and yet they still choose to go down this path again and again. It's not a "mistake" when you wrong people the same way over and over again. It's a choice. And it's hard to forgive when they show no remorse.
Repenting, to me, would mean expressing how sorry you are for what you did. It would mean reaching out to those who were hurt. It would mean doing everything you could to make things right. In my opinion, someone who continues spreading lies and manipulating the very people they call 'friend' is not repentant. This person has never once reached out to the "victims", not even my daughter who was practically a part of their family. They have never once tried to make things right. They are portraying themselves as a victim instead, and that is about the furthest you can get from repenting.
Dealing with the fallout of someone else's actions every day and knowing they are trying to muddy an issue that is completely black and white makes it hard to forgive. Looking into my little girl's eyes and knowing someone who said they loved her doesn't care about the hurt she feels... that makes it hard to forgive. Being the subject of gossip and condemned for choosing the right path, not the easy path... that makes it hard for me to forgive.
According to Wikipedia:
Forgiveness is the intentional and voluntary process by which a victim undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding an offense, lets go of negative emotions such as vengefulness, with an increased ability to wish the offender well. Forgiveness is different from condoning (failing to see the action as wrong and in need of forgiveness), excusing (not holding the offender as responsible for the action), pardoning (granted by a representative of society, such as a judge), forgetting (removing awareness of the offense from consciousness), and reconciliation (restoration of a relationship).
“Man has two great spiritual needs. One is for forgiveness. The other is for goodness.” ~ Billy Graham
Friday, August 28, 2015
I took a shower, got dressed, put on some make up and dried my hair. Then I went to my jewelry box to put on my bling for the day. None of that is unusual.
Then - something caught my eye in the mirror on my dresser and I did a double take.
I LOOK LIKE ME!!
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Happy Wedding Day Mom and Dana. I wish you many more years of love and happiness.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Most of the time I feel pretty good. I have aches and pains, and little energy, but most days I'm good to go. I go to work, I run errands, I do laundry and cook dinner. I manage to be a mom, a wife, a bookkeeper, a softball coach, a friend. Lately though, the "good to go" feeling is gone.
I had an incredibly busy few weeks getting ready for our softball league to host a big tournament. Four long days in the heat after weeks of preparation did me in. I came home Sunday afternoon and crashed at 3:00 in the afternoon. I did not get up until almost 10am the next morning.
I'm still really tired, days later. I don't know if it's the normal "you've been through hell because you had cancer" tired, or if I just haven't been taking good care of myself. I just really want to sleep for a week.
One of the lovely side effects of Tamoxifen is joint pain. Most of the time it's not bad... some hip pain and my knees get stiff if I sit too long. Sometimes it is worse. Tonight is one of those times. Everything hurts.
Being tired, feeling drained, and having it hurt to move makes for one cranky lady. I feel guilty wallowing in any negativity, but sometimes I just have to give in to the pity party.
One of these days I will wake up and feel rested. One of these days I will be able to stand up without saying "Ow". One of these days I will feel a little bit closer to normal.
One of these days.