May 15, 2015
Some days it's just so damn hard. Today was one of those days for me. When you feel like you're at the bottom of a mountain that you can't see the top of. And it's straight up. And you gotta make it to the top. Without equipment.
Daunting is an understatement.
It's not really a good feeling. You'd think it would be something really deep or meaningful that would set me off feeling like that.
Sadly, no.
It was a scarf.
Phil got home from work early because we were going camping for May long weekend. He walked in to find me blubbering like a baby.
"What's going on? What's this about?"
"I can't find a camping scarf!"
He instantly got a very baffled look on his face. Brave man that he is, he continued with "What's a camping scarf?"
When I started to cry harder, he offered a tentative "What colour is it? I'll help you find it!"
At these words I took one look at him and started to laugh. I'm sure he thought I had completely lost it.
What I meant was I was looking for a scarf I could bring camping to wear around my boobless frame. I was feeling frustrated as I pulled my favourite camping tees out when I realised that without boobs they aren't really flattering. I look kinda boxy now in t-shirts.
So I was looking through my (rather large...) infinity scarf collection - thinking "these are not really "camping" scarves".
And a lump started to form in my throat. Because what I have always worn camping suddenly does not work anymore. Yet I don't have anything to replace them with...it never occurred to me I might need different camping clothes...
Which got me thinking that picking camping clothes was never this complicated. Or difficult. It's camping for God's sake! Last year I may not have had hair, but at least I still had my body.
Suddenly those shirts represented everything that's not the same. And it made me so incredibly sad. And started a spiral of thoughts.....about how my days consist of going through my day, every day, counting how many servings of veggies or fruit I ate. And if that meets the 8-10 servings I should be aiming for each day. Then I berate myself as I think about anything that went into my body that was either (perceived) as harmful or empty nutrition. I thought about how much exercise I did (or didn't) do today and previous days and if that meets the 4-5hrs a week of sweating I should be aiming for.
And then there's what I drank. Alcoholic or other. My daily berating of my mocha I just can't seem to give up.
Then I looked around the house and noticed how little I did to contribute.
And it all just seemed so damn hard. It's so very hard to live every day like you're trying to stay 1 step ahead of death. Because that's exactly how I've been feeling. And if I'm failing at trying to beat death, I should have at least contributed to my family.
Once the tears started, it was like this barrier broke and they all came flooding out. Like the pain was just too much, it had to get out. I cried for a long time...that was when Phil came home.
Today the mountain just seemed impossible. So I didn't go to yoga (but that probably would have helped). I was completely overwhelmed.
So I shut myself away from everyone. I feel like a burden on an ordinary day...so on the really hard days I feel like an exceptionally heavy burden.
I will say this little episode made me think about the meds...if I was on them, would I have gotten this upset? Probably about the body changes, but maybe they would help with the nutrition obsession and make me ok with the pretty intense exercise regime I don't seem to acknowledge.
My next appointment with Dr Taylor was May 21 - quickly approaching and I felt no closer to a decision on the meds option. But with the first camping trip of the season a mere hours away, I didn't worry about it too much. Through chemo camping was my refuge - the place I could clear my head and mentally prepare for what was to come.
I dried my tears and hoped it might do that for me again.
Oh and decided to bring Thelma and Louise (my fake boobs lol), my favourite tees and 'camping scarves' be damned.
Some days it's just so damn hard. Today was one of those days for me. When you feel like you're at the bottom of a mountain that you can't see the top of. And it's straight up. And you gotta make it to the top. Without equipment.
Daunting is an understatement.
It's not really a good feeling. You'd think it would be something really deep or meaningful that would set me off feeling like that.
Sadly, no.
It was a scarf.
Phil got home from work early because we were going camping for May long weekend. He walked in to find me blubbering like a baby.
"What's going on? What's this about?"
"I can't find a camping scarf!"
He instantly got a very baffled look on his face. Brave man that he is, he continued with "What's a camping scarf?"
When I started to cry harder, he offered a tentative "What colour is it? I'll help you find it!"
At these words I took one look at him and started to laugh. I'm sure he thought I had completely lost it.
What I meant was I was looking for a scarf I could bring camping to wear around my boobless frame. I was feeling frustrated as I pulled my favourite camping tees out when I realised that without boobs they aren't really flattering. I look kinda boxy now in t-shirts.
So I was looking through my (rather large...) infinity scarf collection - thinking "these are not really "camping" scarves".
And a lump started to form in my throat. Because what I have always worn camping suddenly does not work anymore. Yet I don't have anything to replace them with...it never occurred to me I might need different camping clothes...
Which got me thinking that picking camping clothes was never this complicated. Or difficult. It's camping for God's sake! Last year I may not have had hair, but at least I still had my body.
Suddenly those shirts represented everything that's not the same. And it made me so incredibly sad. And started a spiral of thoughts.....about how my days consist of going through my day, every day, counting how many servings of veggies or fruit I ate. And if that meets the 8-10 servings I should be aiming for each day. Then I berate myself as I think about anything that went into my body that was either (perceived) as harmful or empty nutrition. I thought about how much exercise I did (or didn't) do today and previous days and if that meets the 4-5hrs a week of sweating I should be aiming for.
And then there's what I drank. Alcoholic or other. My daily berating of my mocha I just can't seem to give up.
Then I looked around the house and noticed how little I did to contribute.
And it all just seemed so damn hard. It's so very hard to live every day like you're trying to stay 1 step ahead of death. Because that's exactly how I've been feeling. And if I'm failing at trying to beat death, I should have at least contributed to my family.
Once the tears started, it was like this barrier broke and they all came flooding out. Like the pain was just too much, it had to get out. I cried for a long time...that was when Phil came home.
Today the mountain just seemed impossible. So I didn't go to yoga (but that probably would have helped). I was completely overwhelmed.
So I shut myself away from everyone. I feel like a burden on an ordinary day...so on the really hard days I feel like an exceptionally heavy burden.
I will say this little episode made me think about the meds...if I was on them, would I have gotten this upset? Probably about the body changes, but maybe they would help with the nutrition obsession and make me ok with the pretty intense exercise regime I don't seem to acknowledge.
My next appointment with Dr Taylor was May 21 - quickly approaching and I felt no closer to a decision on the meds option. But with the first camping trip of the season a mere hours away, I didn't worry about it too much. Through chemo camping was my refuge - the place I could clear my head and mentally prepare for what was to come.
I dried my tears and hoped it might do that for me again.
Oh and decided to bring Thelma and Louise (my fake boobs lol), my favourite tees and 'camping scarves' be damned.
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