I spent all day in bed today, trying to stave off the nausea and just rest. Any sleep feels precious -- it's a relief from consciousness. Now, after midnight, I'm feeling somewhat better. I still try to avoid any sudden movements. I don't feel like myself and that's disconcerting. The most ambitious thing I did today was unload the dishwasher. Then back to bed. Reading takes too much concentration.
PF brought over some wonderful chicken tortilla soup yesterday. I've been able to eat little bits and it was great. I continue to feel buoyed up by encouraging words and kindness from friends and family.
Tonight I thought of something I want and need from Dr. S. I've been focused, too much, on being a "good" noncomplaining patient. Next time I see him I intend to tell him I need to hear encouraging words from him. To get through this more easily, I need more than his medical expertise; I need to hear him say "You're doing well! You're going to get through this!" I want to hear it BIG -- whether he believes it or not, I need to hear him say, "You're amazing, you're doing it! You're going through hell and you're surviving. I'm proud of you! "
When I was having my iron infusion on Friday, at one point the nurse, D, was irritable and unpleasant. I hated having to depend on him for anything. The infusion room is so intimate. All of us patients are in varying degrees of helplessness -- mostly motionless in our recliners, only getting up for the occasional trip to the bathroom, IV pole in tow. My weakest self is showing. I have no energy to wear my wig. I look like a patient. I hate being relegated to that status. I'm used to handling things for myself, making an effort to not be a burden. And now here I am having to need and ask, or debate with myself whether my particular issue is truly warranting a request for help. ...Flash thought: Be more demanding! Become a pain in the ass by choice and let the chips fall where they may! ...I'm scared to do that.
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