A Day in the Life…
It hit me this week that it feels like a full-time job to fight through this and get better. Here are just some of the thoughts that go through my mind in a given week:
Make sure you're drinking; it's important to stay hydrated. Take walks and lift light weights when you can to keep your muscle mass up. But rest when you need to. Maybe go to a massage at some point to ward off your headaches. Remember your meds and supplements each morning and evening. Eat multiple small meals throughout the day to counteract nausea. Monday, meet with your doctor and then sit for 4ish hours to get your chemo infusion. (Put on your cold gloves and booties halfway through! And eating ice chips may help the mouth sores stay away). Don't kiss Anthony or the kids for three days after, and make sure you stick to your own bathroom (so as not to share chemo). Tuesday, get some tasks done for work. Wednesday night you start to go downhill, so be sure to get to bed early. Thursday is "crash day," but keep drinking and eating. And continue moving as you're able—activity helps to push the chemo through and out of your body. Call the nurse line as necessary with symptoms; they have good tips for relief, and it's helpful for them to keep track of how your body is responding. Friday-Sunday when you're feeling closer to your normal self, get everything else done that you didn't have energy for through the week, and spend some quality time with your family. Don't forget your blood work on Friday! Oh, and keep a pulse on your emotional health throughout. Don't fight the tears; a good cry every day is often helpful to simply acknowledge the strain and may relieve some tension. Now, get ready to start chemo all over again on Monday.
I don't say any of this looking for pity. It's just been objectively surprising to me how much energy it takes to simply respond to what's going on in my body. Having felt like an active, able-bodied, "in control" person for most of my life, it is very humbling to experience how vulnerable I can so quickly become. There are days I won't even go for a walk around the block without a companion, or I don't want to be left home alone, because I feel so weak. I thought I had a level of compassion for others before this, but I'm hitting a whole new depth of empathy and understanding for those who have been thrown into shocking and unavoidable life circumstances that have left them feeling like a different person than they once thought they were. I've been helped tremendously on this road by those of you who have experienced this intense humbling long before me. I'm learning from you. I have a new-found respect for your steadfastness and persistence through your suffering. Thank you for sharing with me. I'm so glad we can journey together.
In many ways, being so weak is a profound place to be. It brings clarity to what's important. It brings new meaning to verses like 1 Peter 1:24: All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord remains forever.
Or James 4:13-15: Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit"—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, "If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that."
It makes me so grateful for the life that I've been given, and the people I get to share it with (Psalm 139:16). It makes me attentive to God—brings focus to my wandering mind and heart.
Lord, you have my gaze. Make me able to learn and receive what you are giving to me in this low place. Jesus, you humbled yourself and become obedient to death, even death on a cross, to pay for the sins of the world and bring us peace with God (Philippians 2:8). Truly, you are familiar with my weakness because you willingly lived it, and I can approach your throne of grace with confidence to receive mercy and grace in my time of need (Hebrews 4:15-16). You know exactly how to help and are eager to respond.
In light of this, I don't resent this low place. My flesh fights against it, it feels unnatural, but my heart knows God is doing good work through it. Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5). I believe, Lord, help my unbelief (Mark 9:24).
Let me hear of your unfailing love each morning, for I am trusting you. Show me where to walk, for I give myself to you. —Psalm 143:8