Questionable Choices

I mean, the trombone's never a bad choice, is it?

Self-care’s been a major topic for me lately. Sometimes if feels like self-care is my new full-time job. It can be utterly exhausting in moments, as counterintuitive as that may seem.

Before Todd, there was always a sense that self-care was code for indulgence of some sort. I'm engaging in self-care meant something along the lines of I'm taking a bubble bath while someone feeds me chilled grapes.

Not that kind of indulgence.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Self-care is a cruel and disciplinary master. One not afraid to use corporal punishment as a teaching tool. On a regular basis.

So, yesterday I was tired. I woke up tired, and it never really got better from there. My first thought upon waking was, "I should get outside and walk."

But I didn't want to.

So I didn't.

There's a fine line between listening to your body and letting your body push you around. Doing chemo, that line shrinks to a micrometer's width. Feeling bad's the norm, so feeling bad can no longer be a good reason for not doing something you know you should do. Like walking.

I had plenty of encouragement. My dog gets super excited when I wake up now. He dances and prances and whines and shimmies his cute little butt around, ready to GO FOR A WALK.

He was disappointed yesterday.

Nothing quite like the guilt trip your dog can take you on.

So... Todd--one, Ben--zero.

It's not that walking is some kind of panacea. It's just that I know from experience that if I force myself to walk, I feel better. My mind is clearer, the side effects are lessened, the heavens smile upon my feeble brow. Sort of.

But there are days when I just don't want to.

Instead, I rested. Not a terrible choice, you say. And yes, I would agree. But wait.

It gets better.

Later on, we decide to go to Cupbop. We're doing this for my daughter, who is obsessed with all things Korean right now.

It's all BTS, all the time. My daughter made this my laptop's wallpaper, and
it stayed that way for a year, because every time I looked at it, I giggled.

We have some news we need to give her and are not sure how she's going to respond. Hunger tends to raise her overall level of crankiness. Therefore... Cupbop.

What? It's not like I'm afraid of my teenage daughter. Psh.

Anyhoo. Cupbop. It's Korean BBQ fusion in a cardboard cup. Tasty. Fun. No problem, right?

I had thought this through. Well, I thought I had thought it through. When you get Cupbop, you get your choice of meat--beef, chicken or pork. My favorite is the beef. It's bulgogi-style beef, which is slightly sweet, usually marinated in some mixture of pears and crack cocaine.

I've talked about my sensitivity to sugar, right? And simple carbs? But this is marinated in fruit, so it shouldn't be that bad.

As I order, I think, "No problem. I'll ask for it without rice. Just cabbage/lettuce mix and japchae noodles (glassy noodles made from sweet potato--fairly complex in terms of carbs).

I have successfully engaged in self-care! Boom!

I forgot about their white sauce.

When you order, you also tell them the level of spicy you'd prefer, from 1-10. I tend to like spicy but have become more cautious due to raging levels of rawness in my mouth. So I go for a not-totally-laughable level of 4. That includes dynamite sauce (sriracha and mayo) along with the white sauce.

It's pure sugar, y'all.

Now, when I start eating, I realize my mistake. I could have scuttled the mission at that point. I could have gone back and ordered another cup for myself. If I had whispered cancer, they might have even let me get away without having to pay for another meal.

I'm not saying I've tried that.

I ate the whole bowl, y'all. All. Of. It.

Okay, I didn't drink the sauce left in the bottom. But other than that? It all went in my belly. And it was delicious.

Oh, one other thing. We got Sodalicious.

I've found a drink there that mostly works for me--the My-Ty. It's Fresca, with grapefruit syrup and fresh lime. When I order it, I ask for only one pump of the grapefruit and double the fresh lime. I get a 32 oz. cup, so in my mind, the sugar's fairly diluted through the entire drink. And it usually works out okay.

Not today, Satan.

Let's call it a distinct possibility.

At this point, my face itches, and I'm feeling slightly nauseated. Nothing major, but it's there. I'm also foggier than normal, due to the lack of ambulatory exertion earlier that morning.

Whatevs. I got this.

Later, my wife and I go to a movie.

Side note. I love movies. I mean, I'm an actor, so I suppose that's a given, but I really, really love movies.

Going to see movies has become one of my greatest joys in life during this period of time. I'll see anything. I'm not picky. Plop me down in a movie theatre with a comfy, reclining seat, and I'll stay there all day long.

I have, however, had to rein in what I eat during those movies. Soda? Only a little bit, and it has to be sugar-free. Popcorn? Nope. Candy? Puh-leeze.

So I'm constantly on the lookout for what I can eat during these forays into the darkened, air-conditioned auditorium of our local cinema. I've mentioned Ice Chips. Those work. Kinda. There are only so many you can eat before your mouth gets sore.

Beef jerky usually has too much sugar in it.

Dairy doesn't do great for me, but I make exceptions for cheese, because... well... it's cheese. It's low carb, and as long as the cheese isn't too processed, I do okay with it. Unfortunately, there aren't too many cheese-only options when attending the movies.

This time, I decide to try something exotic. Pão de queijo. Brazilian cheese bread.

This stuff's good, y'all.

If you haven't experienced pão de queijo, I highly recommend it. Cheesy, tasty, utterly delectable.

But maybe not in a movie theatre.

I was still riding the edge here. Brazilian cheese bread is mostly cheese, but it does have the word bread in its title, so...

I made it through two of the little cardboard-like pastries before giving up and giving them to my wife. Sorry, babe. Time to take one for the team. We paid good money for these suckers.

More prickles. More itchy skin. More nausea.

You'd think I would've learned my lesson at this point. But I am nothing if not strong-willed (read, eedgit).

My wife makes an amazing chicken curry salad. It's got slivered almonds and red grapes in it. And, like I've said, fruit's usually okay. So she makes a bunch out of the chicken left over from her last batch of bone broth. This is going to be fantastic.

Well, usually people like some sort of edible repository for their chicken salad. Who are these people, you ask? I dunno. People.

Best receptacle for chicken salad? Croissants, of course.

I love croissants, y'all. With a fiery passion that goes far beyond my love of most things culinarily French.

We buy some croissants. You know, for the people.

I think, "Hey, croissants are mostly butter. I bet I could eat them."

So I do. Two of them. Okay, okay, two and a half.

Again, they were delicious.

At this point, my itchiness has gone beyond the help of any lotion on the white market. My nausea is barely under control. My eyes have swollen to the size of bowling balls in my skull.

And you know what? I'm not positive that I cared that much.

Take that, self-care!

Because sometimes, I need to just not go out walking. Sometimes, I need to eat the bad thing. Sometimes, I choose, knowing the choice is... questionable.

Today we're having breakfast sandwiches for dinner. With the remainder of the croissants. And I may just choose to have one. Or two. Or two and a half.

But I sure as shooting went out for a walk this morning.

I can't maintain perfection when it comes to my daily self-care tasks. I can do my best, and then pay the consequences for the less-than-best stuff that I allow in.

So far, that seems to be working for me.
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Upcoming--I ask the vital question, "If you go through chemo, and no one hears you complain, did you really go through chemo?"


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