Mourning my old self

March 12, 2015

I’ve been mourning the old me in the past week, more than ever before.

It’s been a hell of a ride since last Wednesday (well the most recent ride anyway) when my chemo drugs changed.

I’ve gone from a weekly installment to 3-weekly regime – and to say the goal posts have moved is an understatement.

On the last lot of drugs — of which I had 12 — I felt very tired the following few days and had bones that ached with the simplest movement, but I never felt nauseous. I haven’t felt like this EVER!

My oncologist provided me with a great range of drugs – steroids, sleeping tables, anti-nausea medication – to help ward off the ugly side effects I may face. The most concerning part is that I think all those drugs worked – and I still feel like I’ve either got a hangover of the nauseating kind or I’m pregnant and experience morning sickness.

I’ve rarely taken any medication in my life but now I am making up for it and my body is wondering what the hell is going on.

I don’t even feel like coffee or wine — what the hell is wrong with me?

And it’s party time at my house when I forget to take the sleeping tablet with the steroid at dinner time — thankfully Beverly Hills 90210 has re-runs on at 3am and it’s not all infomercials!

So needless to say the combination of drugs (intravenous and tablet form) and lack of sleep mean my emotions have been stripped bare and are out there to be manipulated by those around me and by my very own mind.

Walking down the hallways of my own home I see images of beautiful children and proud parents. They all beam at me as though that image captured the best moment of their life. One after they other, they look down at me, rekindling some amazing family memories.

This photo of Abbey and I was taken five years ago. I want that person back.

That person had life and love in their eyes, a beautiful 5-year-old and a crazy one-year-old and planning what adventure this family would take on next.

She also had pretty good hair then and I’ll be asking for that colour again when mine decides to reappear in some normal form!

I look back and think that person didn’t appreciate what she had then and worried about mind-numbingly boring things. But that was life then and it’s very easy to look back and wonder if you wasted those years, those years that have so far turned out to be some of the best of my life.

Would I be mourning this person regardless of being sick? Would I be mourning her as a natural part of the aging process? Probably!

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