Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I don’t. But either way it isn’t a struggle.
The first few days of a cycle, when the chemo drugs are soaring around in my body, there are more changes. I notice that I can be snappy, or mean, or upset. It comes and it goes. I try to really focus, to keep that quiet. Sometimes hard things spring coldly out of my mouth, and I shock myself, and see my truths and pain in the words. And I grow. I also hope my family can handle the balance. So difficult for them. How do you apologize for that?
Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I don’t. But either way it isn’t a struggle.
When I wake up, I can feel the difference in my cells, how the movement of the blood is altered and working. It isn’t difficult to feel, almost more difficult to unfeel it. It isn’t uncomfortable, just odd. The best way to describe it might be “work,” there is work happening. Something is shifting, moving, changing, happening. That is the point.
So this is day five. Cycle seven has been kind. I have accomplished an extraordinary number of things, have been able to eat in a more normal, balanced way (with Dr. Bailey’s supplement suggestion, the Naturopathic Oncologist’s balance), have been able to really ring in the holiday season with decorations and joy.
Sometimes I sleep, and sometimes I don’t.
Today I slept almost seven hours. The past few days it was more like three. Don’t panic. It will balance out, I promise.
I have watched the sun rise four days in a row. The red tones rise up the mountain range to the East. The window frames the scene like a moving, changing painting. The gray skies turn a surreal pink behind the evergreens to either side of the snow capped peaks. And a new day dawns. Literally. The world is new, joy filled, silent.
Sometimes I sleep, and the dawn and I drift apart. Sometimes I am awake and embrace each new beginning.
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