Exhaustion seemed to emerge from nowhere, after a day during which I felt moderately awake and alert. I went to bed very early last night, but awoke regularly; almost on the hour. Phaedra’s yowls woke me from a light sleep this morning around 5. I got up, fed her, and decided to take a shower, rather than wait for the 6 o’clock alarm (alerting me to the need to prepare for the trip to the hospital—finally—for my brain MRI). By the time I got in the shower, I felt absolutely spent. I had barely enough energy to stand in the shower. By the time I dried myself and got out, I had to lean on the wall to stay upright. But enough energy returned to enable me to get dressed and make my way into my study. I said good morning to mi novia, who was awake, as I passed from the bathroom into the bedroom; she said she would try to sleep another 30 minutes.
My medical schedule this week is not jammed, but full enough; brain MRI today, implantation of a medi-port in my chest (to simplify delivery of chemo drugs) very early (6:30) tomorrow morning, labs and various other oncological activities on Friday. Aside from medical obligations, we plan to go to a wine dinner on Thursday night, a church gathering on Friday evening, and a chili cook-off late Saturday afternoon (I committed to make a pot of chili). Considering the way I feel at the moment, I doubt I’ll make some of the social engagements; I do not feel bad, just overwhelmingly fatigued, as if every shred of energy has been stripped from my body. Maybe I will recover, though. Time will tell.
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I received a very nice card in the mail yesterday, a supplement to my wonderful soubhiyé mug. Thanks, Debbie (and John); you are a treasure. People who take the time to write notes, send cards, and otherwise express support deserve—and receive—my high admiration. I, on the other hand, tend to be a slug. I think of sending cards, etc., but rarely take action. Some friends from church make a habit of letting friends know they are on their mind. That is such a positive, supportive, morale-boosting way of letting people know they matter. But I…I think about it but do nothing, for the most part. I deserve to be lashed with a leather quirt.
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My energy refuses to let me continue to write. I want to, I wish I could, I should…but I am too damn tired. We’ll leave in half an hour for my MRI. I’ll probably sleep upright in my chair until then.
