Down day

It’s now five days after my most recent chemo and three days since the portable pump was removed.  Everything should be fine.  I should be well on the way of recovery for the last two sessions.  The cold-sensitivity in my fingers should have abated and my digestion should be back to normal.  All should be good, but it isn’t.

Frequently after chemo, I get exceptionally tired.  I probably wrote a few posts that talk about this.  I was dead-tired after Christmas and after the sessions in January.  Some days, I slept away entirely.  I was not good for anything.

The previous session in the middle of February was different.  I didn’t feel bad in any way.  There were no side effects, and I was fresh.  This didn’t last.  There’s no consistency to the time after a chemo session.  All day today, I felt like a zombie.

I got up and had breakfast all right.  Flucha had heroically taken care of the boy who insisted that the night should be over at 4 am.  If he had eaten more the night before, he wouldn’t have been so hungry for his milk.  Throughout all the commotion, I kept sleeping.

After breakfast, the next – and inevitable – point on my Saturdays’ agenda is the trainer.  I really didn’t feel like riding it for an hour, but what could I do?  There was good reason for it.  Survival is always on my mind.  I sat down on my bicycle, chose the easiest route on my phone, and loaded a chess video onto the big screen that ran for almost an hour.  This distracted me enough to keep pedaling throughout, but when it was over, I was empty and skipped the last 15 minutes of the ride.  No need for useless suffering.  I have ridden enough this week.

In the afternoon, Flucha and the children went to a pool half an hour away whose biggest draw is hot water from thermal springs.  Sitting there, soaking up the heat, having a cocktail and whiling away the time would have been the perfect afternoon for me.  Chasing after the children with their boundless energy – much less so.  I stayed at home – and retired straight to bed when the family had left.

There was nothing to do.  I was too much of a zombie to stare at a screen.  I was too much of a zombie to read a book, and certainly too much of a zombie to write on my blog.  Now, towards the end of the afternoon, things are looking up a little.  I went shopping in town.  Instead of shelves raided of pasta and loo roll (as in the UK, which seems engaged in a practice run for when Brexit hits), I found special offers and plenty of merchandise.

Later, back home, I realized that the fondue we had planned is not looking good.  Our caquelon, the ceramic pot used to whip up the goo, won’t work on our induction stove.  Plus, I forgot to buy the burning paste that keeps the fondue hot.  So no fondue.  But I’m in enough of a shape to cook a little risotto.

Let’s hope tomorrow will be a better day.  And then it’s less than twenty days until the first chemo program is over.