Even though I expect the bad days, they still surprise me. The tiredness usually comes upon me on the fourth, fifth and sixth days after chemo.
What has been frustrating is that the weather right now is so beautiful. I look out the windows and see the gorgeous fall colors and wish I could just enjoy the blessing of an October day living here on Hoover Reservoir. I was able to walk the dog a mile Friday morning and truly felt a glimpse of happiness. By evening, however, I was in a place of sudden exhaustion.
What is strange is how the tiredness just sort of floods over me all of a sudden. Audrey came for dinner on Friday and I felt fine for the first part of the visit. But suddenly I was just spent. After she left I sat on the couch for forty five minutes with my eyes closed recuperating. Saturday Reagan and Addie came for pizza and I loved seeing them. It didn't take long for me to feel "weird" and decide I needed to lie down on the couch. They took care of everything - doing the dishes, getting me water and a blanket, and telling me they loved me. These visits are both life giving and draining. But worth it.
This morning I am starting to feel better. John and I watched on YOUTUBE the last sermon by our minister Tim Ahrens who is retiring from First Congregational Church after twenty five years. His sermon spoke to me on so many levels about "Running the Race with Perseverance." I think about this race that is before me with cancer and it is so daunting. But the reminder is that Jesus really is with me and will give me what I need to keep going. Those were his last words - Keep Moving. Forward.
My latest practice in the morning is this. After I have taken my shower, made the bed, gotten dressed and put on my wig, I sit on the bed with a rock that was given to me during the prayer time before my surgery three weeks ago. I hold it and pray for "Divine Miraculous Healing" And usually I cry.
Here is a reading my Anne Lamott that speaks to me today about the courage of prayer
The Courage of Prayer
“My belief is that when you’re telling the truth, you’re close to God. If you say to God, “I am exhausted and depressed beyond words, and I don’t like You at all right now, and I recoil from most people who believe in You,” that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said. If you told me you had said to God, “It is all hopeless, and I don’t have a clue if You exist, but I could use a hand,” it would almost bring tears to my eyes, tears of pride in you, for the courage it takes to get real-really real. It would make me want to sit next to you at the dinner table.
So prayer is our sometimes real selves trying to communicate with the Real, with Truth, with the Light. It is us reaching out to be heard, hoping to be found by a light and warmth in the world, instead of darkness and cold. Even mushrooms respond to light – I suppose they blink their mushroomy eyes, like the rest of us.
Light reveals us to ourselves, which is not always so great if you find yourself in a big disgusting mess, possibly of your own creation. But like sunflowers we turn toward light. Light warms, and in most cases it draws us to itself. And in this light, we can see beyond our modest receptors, to what is way beyond us, and deep inside.”
― Anne Lamott, Help Thanks Wow: The Three Essential Prayers
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