It’s my bi-monthly infusion day, which means I spent the morning hanging out with the nurses in the oncology/hematology department getting my 8-week dose of medication before heading home to rest through the late morning and early afternoon hours.
I always take off from work on my infusion days. Not just because I’m tired after, but because the clinic and the fact that I have to go there at all can be so depressing I need time to decompress from the procedure and return to feeling normal.
The nurse asked me how I was doing and how my symptoms were faring. I laughed, though I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t think he really wanted to hear how I was really doing. I gave him the light version but even then, just hearing ugly description of what my life has been like until now felt distressing and disturbing.
I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to catch up on my half of the responsibilities in the house. I used to hate chores but now going through the house, room to room, organizing and disinfecting is its own kind of medication and salve for both the body and soul. I needed it more than I knew.
Life continues to throw bad news my way, but I’m determined not to let myself get emotionally wrapped up in lives I’m not living. Most of what I stress about isn’t mine to fix or worry over, but I can’t help wanting to make the world right for those I love, and I can’t help blaming myself when I can’t. I’m trying to remember not every problem is mine to fix and not every challenge is mine to face. My role can be supportive, even if all I can do is support you all the way to rock bottom.
Knowing myself, though, the willpower and resolve won’t last. I can’t help who I am at the core, for better or worse, I have to do something. I just hope I choose the right thing. I hope I don’t risk the work and relationships I cherish the most.