Kicking cancer's ass - day 1637

Today was the second Monday in a row that I didn't go to work. 

Normally that would be cause for celebration. 
Last Monday I was recuperating from flying to the east coast for the second time in two weeks, and being away from home for 7 out of 11 days. 

This morning I stayed home because I was sick.  I'm not running a fever, so I don't think it's anything serious.  Given my medical history over the last five years, though, it doesn't take something serious to knock me flat for several days. 

Even before my cancer diagnosis I was dealing with a compromised immune system.  About a year before d-day I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease, as well as Epstein-Barr virus (the virus that causes mono).  Both of those are basically a "once you've had it, you're stuck with it" kind of thing.  Even though I don't have active symptoms of either one anymore, it takes a lot of effort for my system to fight anything off.

Yesterday was a couch day (for all of us, not just me!).  I read, I had chicken soup for lunch, and we watched the Olympics all day.  All of that resting didn't help me bounce back.  I woke up this morning with the same headache, the same sore throat, the same worn out feeling.

Thankfully I am blessed with a boss who happens to be my husband, and he is very understanding about my limitations.  I had brought work home with me last week, so I was able to accomplish something today besides keeping my electric blanket company. 

It's so frustrating that something as ordinary as a cold can knock me flat and make me feel like I have to climb a mountain to bounce back.

Last night, in the middle of the night, I was hit with a wave of grief so sharp I couldn't sleep.  It has been fifteen days since my bestie became an angel in heaven.  It has been nine days since she was laid to rest.  I don't know what set me off last night, but the reality that I'll never see her, never talk to her, never laugh with her again hit, and it hit hard.

I can vividly recall every moment I spent with her during her final days.  I remember everything I said to her, and everything she said to me.  I remember what her hair looked like (dark!) and what her hand felt like in mine.  I remember hating cancer so much, every single minute I was there.

Trudy has not been a part of my every day life for a long time.  Decades.  There were years we didn't even see each other once.  There were months we didn't even talk once.  But she was always, always there.  Just a phone call away.  Just a text away. 

I have a thousand different wonderful memories with Trudy.  She's in heaven, and all I have are those memories.

I have so much love for her, with nowhere for it to go.
It breaks my heart.