Where's My Pram?

It’s a gorgeous day. Today the Aged Beast deigned to descend the stairs with a minimum of coaxing. The garden, bedraggled by winter, nonetheless looked almost inviting. The air was warm, at least comparatively so, and the birds were singing.

In contrast, I feel like hell warmed over. I started out the day with dry heaves. I’ve been shuffling around the house in pajamas, feeling exhausted. It’s the worst day (I hope) of this treatment. I’d love to go outside, but I think it would require being pushed in a large pram. Even sitting up is too much. I’d rather be lying down at this point. My bald head is appropriate for a pram.

My room is a mess and I don’t have the energy to organize it. I have letters to write, packages to mail, projects to do, and nothing is being done. I don’t have the brain power to read so I listen to the radio or books on tape, not that I can follow them particularly well.

And it’s all so predictable. Well, it just gets better from here, at least until the next chemo treatment. Only two left. There is an end to this.