Letters from Second Peninsula
It’s early Tuesday morning, the sky is overcast, and the deck is damp from the overnight rain. The thermometer outside my bedroom reads 11 degrees Celsius. I have to admit that I love this weather. I wouldn’t want a summer devoid of hot, sunny days, but for me, these cool mornings remind me of childhood summers in Cape Breton. The mornings were often quite cool.
My Grandmother would drive out to the cottage in South Bar, before she headed to her store, to drop off food and start a fire in the fireplace to take the chill off. Homemade bagels and other delights were left in the kitchen. This is, to my mind, a typical Cape Breton morning.
For the lovely nurses who will look after me tomorrow morning, I’ve baked some bagels for their morning coffee break. It’s also therapeutic after lying in bed for countless hours since Saturday evening.
I receive many encouraging and supportive responses to these weekly updates, and I appreciate all of them. Before I begin to write have no clue as to what I’m going to write about. My updates are a stream of consciousness outpouring of the thoughts and emotions that run through my mind.
I have yet to experience a week without moments of deep despair. It’s tough for Tony to bear witness to them. My fatigue began late Saturday afternoon and reached its apex on Monday. It was matched by overwhelming sadness that lasted much of the day. It began to recede as evening came. What I know for sure is that I could never go through this again.
A friend suggested I subscribe to a newsletter that gives updates on the cancer of your choice. I just glanced at one that arrived this morning and discusses mental health and Myeloma. It advises that treatment should be viewed as a marathon rather than a sprint. I’m not a marathoner, nor do I aspire to be one. I find it hard to do anything other than glance at these articles. In that way, we are all different. Some choose to learn all they can about what they are facing, but I know that I’m better off dealing with issues on a need-to-know basis. It’s overwhelming enough just to manage a day at a time.
I know that today’s infusion of steroids will make the styes recede for a few days, and I will once again have some energy. Talk about a mixed blessing. These days I no longer have the energy for any kind of exercise other than the emotional ups and downs!
Yes, “only five treatments” are left after today, but given how I feel this morning, it’s hard to imagine another five weeks like this. Undoubtedly, I will feel differently tomorrow as the steroids lift my spirits and energy.
Until next time,