Holy smokes, it's hot.
Let me qualify that. It's normal compared to where we used to live, just 13 miles away but always 10 degrees warmer. Long-suffering friends in southern Cal's Inland Empire report 110 degrees today, so my measly
96 103, albeit the warmest day of the year for this frigid island, is like a breath of fresh air if you're inland. Having run the heater every morning for the past three weeks due to morning temps in the 50's, this is actually a welcome change. Finally, shorts! For the first time since we moved here in June. Max the skinny special needs kitty got a bath! The windows are open and the fans are a-blowin'. So bizarre.
It's been two months since we moved and I'm at once overwhelmed with projects yet wonder if there's any point beating myself up trying to organize and beautify this house whilst racing against time and battling cancer. With my other cancer comrades negotiating thin ice, I can't help but wonder when this journey of pretending I'm alright will reach its turning point and all this effort will seem meaningless.
What would be the best use of my time (the time I have left)? Tons of things left to do…tasks, not "fun" things.
Sometimes it feels like those around me have somewhat forgotten how ill I really am. They're accustomed to a high functioning person. They don't witness the myriad side effects that hamper my life and occasionally my morale. Let me just bitch about it for a moment.
I haven't had a haircut since I was on chemo break a year ago because my scalp is covered with scabby hair follicle sores (Tarceva). This has also cause areas of balding, but mostly it hurts! I haven't had acupuncture since June. The oncologist has given me five referrals and feels it's time for someone else, like a PCP, to refer. Hence, pain. I could use a massage but haven't had one since April because again, thanks to Tarceva, my skin could be scary to someone unfamiliar with chemo-induced skin toxicity. Again, no pain relief. I'm on an antibiotic for the skin condition and it's probably ineffective by now, but I'm still incredibly photo-sensitive. Emergency bathroom runs? Yup. Fucked up toes? Affirmative. Short of breath? Sure. Facial hair? Chewbacca. Freakishly long eyelashes? That's the only good side effect, but I'm sick of being asked if they're extensions or if I'm using Latisse, and being told just how lucky I am to be blessed with these eyelashes. As a side note, the eyelash follicles get scabby and inflamed just like all the other hair follicles on my body. All 40 million, or however many we're supposed to have.
I'm pensive, confused, apprehensive. I feel like I have to stay alive to hold things together—for my family, mostly, and a bit for the Hubs, although he's the great adapter. It's probably just self-flattery, things always go on. Which is why I shouldn't give a shit about whether the house is pretty or any of that.
I just wish I could find shampoo/conditioner that would improve my scalp, lotion and face cream that works, without those EWG-designated scary ingredients, and whatever my calling at this stage is. I feel like I'm asking for a unicorn or for Six Apart to actually invest in Vox.
I don't really have any reason to complain. I seem ok, although I'll find out come Sept. 1. It's not in my brain yet, and my heart goes out to Naomi and Caroline for what they've been through/are going through. I pray each night for something to help us all…