I awaken slowly, my mouth pasty and sticky. Dry. I need water. I start to rise and then my stomach starts to contort. Hurry. Fly through the dark. Stumble against the wall and let your fingers work their way to the door handle. Hurry. Seconds too late, your stomach won't hold on any longer.
My stomach has roiled and churned, cramping and bloating. Emptying its contents again and again.
I take 2 Immodium, then a third dose. Then a fourth. How many can I take? How many should I take? What are the odds of having to go to the ER if I call at 2:45 am? Good, I bet.
I drink handfuls of water from the faucet. My lips burn. Sores have erupted all over the edges of my tongue. I feel like I've scorched my mouth somehow. My face is red, and rashy, with acne breaking out all around. Tykerb rash. It's expected.
I scurry back to the medicine cabinet and grab my Ativan- my sleep in a bottle.
I skip going to the lake the next day, weak and tired.
I edit and edit picnic photos from Cully's Kids.
And this much I know is true.
I won't. I can't. I will not let Cancer take my joy.
I will cling to the small. The tiny. The littlest of moments that sing to me.
As they do... those bright-eyed-joy-filled kids.
So I make tea, in my new mug... and there it is...
... the coffee mug that sums up my mantra "life is found in the tiniest moments... live your moments full..." from the friend who lives them fully with me.
And the card. With the words... that my baby boy told me he picked just for me... 11, going on 40 that kid.
He read these words...
And said it was this phrase that made him know... this card was for me.
yep- 11 going on 40.
And I read it over and over again. Small. Tiny. Perfect. The beauty of life living inside the small.
Can't take my joy...
I'm better today. Its tricky, but we'll figure it out. I will see Dr. Panwalkar in the morning and polish off my visit with a vitamin H infusion.