Today is one of those days that hurts to get out of bed in the morning. I set my alarm for early enough to go run before work. That did not happen. I almost cried getting out of bed in time to make it to work.
Truth be told, I have been so tired for a while now. It is not just tired like I need a nap during the day, but it is the kind of tired that comes with chemo and fatigue. Chemo tired is not pacified by taking a nap. You wake just as tired as before. It is heavy. My arms feel like they are pulling me down.
Yesterday after making dinner for my family, a cheese and chicken ravioli (store bought) in a pesto olive oil sauce I made with garlic bread and sweet potatoes with caramelized onion and crumbled bacon, I just had to sit down. I did not know I was asleep until all of a sudden I realized my wife was finishing up reading to our children and I had no idea how long they had read. Sure, I mention the food because I think the meal itself had a little to do with it as a card/starch filled meal could have had a little help towards a food coma, but the heavy tired has been going on for a while. ...And because I wanted to brag a little about how the food was good. That is was fatigue does. It makes staying awake, especially if you sit down, a near impossibility.
In addition to the heavy tired that has plagued me for too long, I ache. Both in the bones and joints, as well as in the muscles. The aches and pains that commonly come with running and keeping up with replacing your shoes when mileage dictates the need, those aches I accept. Those aches I earn. Ankles and shins and hips, they voice their dislike for my pushing myself. Aside from those which are the acceptable payment for the emotional sanctity of physical exertion, when your bones hurt, when your muscles feel bruised, the hypochondriac in me raises his ugly mottled head.
Am I relapsing? Is it spreading? Is it mutating? Why does my bicep hurt like I curled too much weight? Why do my radius and ulna ache?
...Grumble, grumble. My next appointment is in a couple weeks. I don't know if I am just being paranoid or if these are legitimate issues.
I have been thinking about that appointment for a few days. The nurses always ask if I am in any pain. Usually I have earned any pain by running or something. But not this time. I do not understand it. I do not know how to answer their next question, either. "On a scale of 1-10, how bad is it?" Well that's just stupid. Pain is relative. Is this pain more painful than... a root canal with not enough novocain? No. Is this pain more painful than stubbing your toe? Yes. Is this pain painful enough to take pain blockers? Everyday, and it still hurts. Then I ask myself if this pain is worse for me than the cause of the anguished look on the old lady's face in the chair next to me in the infusion room. With a sigh comes my answer, I would be the biggest sissy if that were the case. I ache. I am very tired of the ache. But I should be able to endure this pain far more than those around me. So what do I tell the nurses? I would really like the pain to go away, but if there is not much more advice than can be given than take some Tylenol, then "Thank you, Sir. May I have another?" And I will be on my way.
"Tell me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?"
The Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene 2
I don't know.
...Who is John Gault?
