Pajama day

(Pamela S., I blame you for this entry. You said you wanted more 'ramblings'.)

It's about 5:30 pm, and I'm still in my pajamas. There was nothing required of me today, and I willingly complied. For the first few nights immediately after chemo, I don't sleep so well because I tend to catnap my way through the day, either from just the sheer fatigue or a pill for nausea, or both. And then I want to catnap my way through the next day because I didn't sleep well the night before. It usually straightens itself out by the weekend.

It's hard not to feel guilty telling the boys good bye in the morning while I'm in my robe and slippers, and it's even worse when they come home and find me in the same state. I know they understand, but I still feel bad.

I've built a nest around the reclining chair in the man cave (family room -- or the old playroom, as some of you might remember). At my hands are my iPad (of course), my liter-sized Camelbak water bottle (gotta flush out those toxins), my cell phone and the house phone, television controls if Paul isn't here, my favorite black pashmina wrap, a blanket, various magazines and catalogues, copies of medical reports, greeting cards, hand lotion, reading glasses, and lip balm. I can pretty much survive the day right here.

My crowning achievement today was opening a shipping box containing a replacement pair of my favorite shoes. The box had been unopened since before Christmas. I almost kept the tattered original pair for...I don't know...backup, but saner heads prevailed. My visiting dear friend Andrea strongly advocated pitching them in a manner only a close friend can. I complied.

I spent the remainder of my day surfing the net, catnapping, talking to an old neighbor on the phone, and watching a movie about Hemingway. I forget the name, but it starred Clive Owen and Nicole Kidman.

It's close to 6:30 now, and Paul just arrived home, after picking up six different prescriptions for me from the Walgreens. Let's see what he comes up with for dinner.