Despite my best hopes that I would emerge from my final round
of chemo in relatively decent shape, the toxins have driven me deep underground.
Bone-weary fatigue overwhelms me. I get short of breath walking to the bathroom. I dragged myself upstairs yesterday afternoon for a shower and thought I might collapse along the way.
The problem, I'm guessing, is that chemo has sent my red and white blood cell crashing to unhealthy lows. Despite the fatigue, I've slept fitfully, plagued by strange dreams. Naps come sparingly. The hours pass slowly; my days are filled with interminable ennui.
I've not had the nausea that plagues some chemo patients, but the metallic taste in my mouth has made food unappetizing. Mary Lou now must urge me to eat.
The doctors have only one chance to get it right. I will not put myself through this again.
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