Hog-Tie Me

Before I had cancer, chemo treatment conjured up images of bald women constantly hanging over the toilet because they can't keep down their breakfast.  Not a pretty picture, I admit.  Well, I've had the bald part down from the start, but I thought I'd dodged the upset stomach bullet.  Until now.

This week, I discovered just how good I had it with my old chemo regime.  Not that I've been hanging over the toilet--I've been popping pills like a maniac to keep myself from that unpleasant activity--but my stomach still makes its misery known.  Actually, it's been a lot like the first trimester of pregnancy, except I have no bundle of joy to look forward to at the end of this ordeal.

With the new regime, I'm also fighting a greater fatigue than I've had before.  Shopping for clothes the other day required me to constantly stop and rest my arms.  I felt like I was lifting weights, just from pushing clothes on the rack and trying on shirts. 

And then there are the body temperature issues.  One minute, I'm freezing and huddled in blankets; the next minute I'm broiling hot, throwing off my hat and blanket to get some air.  But, I guess you can't expect to get hit with the big guns and walk away unscathed.

My biggest worry is: how in the world will I get myself to go to the next treatment?!  Every time I think about it, I want to pitch a world-class temper tantrum.  Steve said he might have to hog-tie me to get me up there.

The only bright spot is that I don't have to place myself in the line of fire again for 3 weeks.  Maybe by then, I'll be able to work up my courage enough that Steve can leave his rope at home.