Remember last winter? I know it is hard to do, what with the dog days of summer inflicting themselves on the Northern Hemisphere, but give it a try. Or go back and read my blog entries for December and January, whatever works. I wasn't really living at home, I was living in hotels while working out of town, coming home on weekends to do laundry and pet the cat. I was still in this state of location limbo when I was diagnosed. My super boss at-the-time cut my assignment short and sent me home.
This may upset some folks, but I came home fully expecting to die. Don't get me wrong, I was obviously hopeful, but you hope for the best and expect the worst. There were at least two points in the last six months (wow, really only six?) when I was found lying on the floor, thinking that I was dying right then and there and geez, why hadn't anyone vacuumed/mopped? I limped home and crawled into my tiny apartment, into myself, thinking that there was a good chance that I would never come out again.
So, now that we're (yes we, you all helped) past the worst of the treatments and it looks like I am going to be okay, I find myself still firmly entrenched into this little shell. I force myself to go out and run errands, but only because it's good for me, not because I want to. I go to the pool to swim (17 laps so far) to help lose the chemo weight and to help my arm heal, but I don't talk to anyone. I visit with friends if they have the time and I feel well enough, but I keep my hat on and try to keep things short. I am mysteriously sleeping or sick every knit night. I am afraid.
It is going to take a lot of work and much tugging, but I think I can pop myself out of this shell. I might be able to function as a snail, but I haven't heard of that many happy snails. I want to be a cuttlefish.