Bad days come and go. I try and remind myself that during bad days. Today was a bad day. My bad days come more frequently now, with the cancer shit and all. My hormones have been all jacked up from being put into early menopause and now, being allowed to come out of that medically induced perpetual hot flash. Not to mention the countless chemicals that have been pumped through my body for the last 6 months. Lets top that all off with major surgery and well, I am physically and emotionally a hot fucking mess.
So, today was a bad day. I woke up to my stiff joints not wanting to move, a very regular reminder that chemo and the steroids with it, fucked me. I may have this stiff sore joint shit every time I relax and sit still for more than 5 minutes for ever. Like until I die. Awesome. So, I cried a little because it sucks.
I stubbed my toe later because the house is a class A disaster. Instead of the normal throbbing pain of a stubbed toe, it’s a prickling burning sensation that feels like my toe was actually ripped off. Another delightful reminder that chemo fucked me. Numb, asleep feeling, prickly, burning toes for, oh, the next 6 months to a year +/- a couple months. Great. So, I cried a little more.
From my disheveled seat on my dirty living room floor I looked around at the chaos. Shit piled everywhere. Stuff to sell or donate or trash. Collapsed boxes waiting to be taped together and filled with our shit. See, we’re moving at the end of this month which, I am excited about. Or I was until at last minute the good ol’ Navy decided the Sailor had to go do sailor things for them some place that is no where near here for several weeks. He will be home just in time to chuck some shit in boxes and mass exodus us to the new place. Here I was thinking I was going to help by purging shit and filling a few boxes but I could barely summon the upper body strength to pick myself off the dirty floor where I was sitting. Thanks bilateral mastectomy. Way to make me feel pretty much fucking helpless from the waist up for the last 4 weeks. I love having my chest constantly ache and having sharp nerve pains where my tits used to be. So I ugly cried. I bawled my eyes out because my house is a fucking disaster, because I don’t want to pack, because when I do try and pack it makes me feel like I have the strength of a toddler and because my husband who happens to be my best friend is out in the ocean somewhere on a stupid ship instead of here giving me the hug I so desperately needed today.
After going through kitchen crap and purging things I no longer really need, taking some pictures of the nice things and listing them online for sale, I vegged out on the couch. And I cried. Because I realize it’s Sunday and I didn’t make pancakes for the first time in weeks and at this point, that’s all it took.
Eventually I went up to take a shower. Let the hot water wash away my ridiculous sadness. FALSE. The mirror in the bathroom served as a glaring reminder that I no longer have breasts. Hard bulbous barely inflated implants under angry pink scars covered in the remnants of steri-strip adhesive (that shit is no joke) that refuses to let go of my skin stared back at me. Not to mention my round dome barely covered in velvety new hair sticking up at wonky angles from being slept on mocking me from the mirror. And I cried. Giant elephant tears mix with hot tap water as I sobbed my way though what could have been a relaxing warm wash to rid myself of sadness. Instead, I wallowed. I let the depression and sadness and anger just wash over me as much as the water from the shower head and I let the sobs wrack my body as I hiccuped in air. I cried while I scrubbed the cleansing conditioner into my new velvety hair covered scalp and while delicately scouring at the steri-strip glue (seriously, that shit is not fucking around) off my wonky chest. By the time I am out of the shower and in my room lotioning my dry jacked up body, nothing more than a few silent tears were left.
So here I sit. Feeling sorry for myself and empty of tears. I just don’t have any more at this time. Plus I’ve given myself a head ache from the last good shower cry so, now I’m irritated with myself along with my normal being irritated with every thing irritation. I’m glad I’m alone right now. I’d probably be cussing out anyone with me. That’s how I roll these days. Ugly crying right into go fuck yourself mode. Thanks cancer for bringing out the worst in me.