My bones are anvils. They have sunk me to the bottom of a warm, shallow sea. I can see all of your boats sailing around above me. Sometimes you drop anchor to lift me up with your thoughts and love. Mostly I just lie there, resting, drifting, awaiting the day when my bones lighten up and I raise back to the surface. Then I will find my boat and sail around with you once more.
The new drugs are not doing me any favors. Fatigue is indistinguishable from my previous drug cocktail, nausea seems to be a bit worse, and I'm having morale issues due to the additional treatments headed my way. [My dad mapped it out and my last chemo is now the 22nd of August. August! The girls' first day of school is August 14th! This will probably put my surgery on Azalea's birthday (first week of October)! My poor children. Plus I'm an invited speaker at a national conference on August 10th or so...what am I going to do about that? Sigh.]
The new drugs are a bit easier on me in two ways, and those are chemo brain and heartburn. For the most part I don't feel as dizzy or blurry, although I do have my moments. Regarding the heartburn, I wonder if my oncologist reduced my dose of steroids. The heartburn was terrible last time, and she mentioned that that was the fault of the 'roids and that she could reduce the dose. I'm pleased with the change, regardless of the cause.
Time to put on some socks and go for my daily stroll before I sink back down to my watery recovery place. Ian planted lots of flowers yesterday, so I'm excited to go outside and admire them. They seem to grow so quickly in my intermittent world.