This time around is...different

Patience, child, that little voice inside my head tells me. It's only been six days since your first session of chemo this time around. You're supposed to be lightheaded, tired, a little frustrated. But I don't remember this from the two times before. Even just by day seven I was getting out of bed and eagerly showering and dressing, getting out a little bit. Doing things. But, this time around is...different. You must rest when your body says rest, the voice resonates, no matter what day of the cycle it is. Perhaps it's being almost 61, instead of in my fifties or forties. I don't know the rhyme or reason. I just know I don't like how I'm feeling. I feel like an almost-61 year-old petulent child who wants the red lollipop in my outstretched hand. I want to feel normal, as if there was something as crazy as normal during chemotherapy. I guess normal is just whatever you get. Don't get me wrong. I'm incredibly grateful that this therapy exists, that there's a magic elixer to prolong my life. You've got some strong drugs coursing through your body, my husband Paul reminds me. I'm also incredibly grateful for all you dear readers out there, supporting me along this journey. I'll settle in and let myself be what it needs to be. I just had to get a little whining out of the way first.