Revenge of the Sixth

It all makes sense now. The baldness, the anger issues, the bloodshot eyes.
Darth Maul was going through chemo!

Sixth chemo treatment today. Halfway mark.

Who does chemo and gains weight? Me, apparently.

Six treatments down, six to go. Over the hump. It's all downhill from here on out.

Aaaaand, inside my head I'm screaming bloody murder.

Just trying to inject a little art. Todd can Munch on glass, the rat bastard

I know, I know. I'm working on that attitude of gratitude. Just writing that sentence made me want to punch myself in the face. As you can see, I'm CRANKY. "Oh no, Ben! Why are you cranky (that's you asking that inane question, btw; how do you feel about that, huh? HUH??!)?" (Wow, was that a lot of punctuation marks all in a row, or what?)

You want to know? Ha! Doesn't matter whether you do or not, because you're getting one right now.

I don't feel good.

I'm like the opposite of James Brown, y'all. No, not because I'm white. Srsly, what is wrong with you?

At this point, I have the pattern pretty much down. First day after chemo, I feel great. I get things done. I feel productive. Birds come in through the window, land on my shoulder and chirp merrily as they help me in my tasks.

Sounds nice, huh?

Then day two hits. Guess what day I'm on right now. Too late. It's day two.

Too slow. Three Toes. Yeah, I said it. You're a sloth.

As I'm writing, I'm noticing a caustic bite to my prose. I'm not going to edit it out, because it's how I feel.

Chemo rage? Power surges? You decide.

The way I try to see it when I have days like this is that the worse I feel, the better the treatment's working. And it is working. I have proof of that. But man does this suck.

I'm choosing to flip the script, though. I'm not taking this lying down (almost literally... explanation to come). So, okay, I feel like roadkill that's been baking in the hot Texas sun for three days. So what? That doesn't mean I need to just collapse in on myself. Todd's being a dick, so...

And when fake Sean Connery speaks, Todd listens.

Day two, historically, has been the day when I faceplant. I go from the high of day one to the depths of despair at some point in day two. However, this time, I kept going. I walked for 30 minutes on the treadmill this morning and then for a while this evening with my wife. It was so HOT.

It was actually 97 degrees.

I got a fair amount accomplished today, in spite of the fact that Todd was telling me no. I've decided that Todd is not the boss of me. At least not today. We'll see how well the rest of the week goes.

Oh, that's the other part. Day two isn't the low point. Day six or seven usually is. Then I gradually climb back up the ladder until it's time to get another treatment.

Whatever. I've made a discovery.

Cat naps.

I like "kitten naps" better.

Instead of taking long naps and staying in bed most of the day, I took a bunch of 20 minutes naps. Just enough to restore me a little bit so that I could keep going. It's worked so far. I'll take it a day at a time. There is a balance between acknowledging my discomfort while choosing to move forward and just pushing past the pain. The former is strangely kind and gentle, in a way. The second is no bueno.

It's always been a difficult thing for me. In my life, I've gone through a nasty cycle. I've punished myself with horrid eating (have you ever punched yourself in the face with a donut?) and no exercise, followed by obsessive eating and way too much exercise.

Once again, Todd's giving me a chance to grow. To be clear, I don't think he knows that he is. Remember, we're talking about Todd. But I'll take the lesson.

It's a really good one.

Oh, and here are my chemo socks:

It's raining cats, y'all.

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In our next installment of Ben v. Todd, we explore the intricacies of chemo room etiquette. Spoiler alert. It gets vicious in there.

Next post.