Cold

I feel cold inside myself.

Empty. 

Darkness. 

A need to get warm. 

My body aches. 

Heating pad on my left knee, from a bicycle accident the summer before I turned 16. I was hit by a truck. It was light green with a white line down the side. 80's model Ford pickup truck.

Another one on my left hip and lower back. Possibly from that accident. Definitely from giving birth. 

Twice. 

Vaginally. 

With no meds. 

Twice. 

Fucking got ripped in half. 

Then in half again. 

That's quarters. 

I gotta get that app on the iPad so he can learn about counting change. And dollars. Especially before we go to Seattle on 3/3. Fuggin epilepsy. Goddamnedautism. 

Warm up. 

Gotta warm up. 

Cuppa hot chamomile tea with honey. 

Twice.

Three times.

Four? 

English muffin with raisins and cinnamon. And butter. Because I can. And I don't know how long I'll be able to. Lots of butter. Mmm hmmmm........

I don't dare eat this near him. He's tired. I'm tired. We're fighting. Still. He loathes the smell of cinnamon. Looses his mind when his brother has toast with cinnamon and sugar. A leftover food choice from Teacher Bob. Gratitude to you Teacher Bob. For reals. Because I's has some other comfort food choice besides goldfish. 

Return to sitting in the glider. 

Warming up. 

Feet up. With a third heating pad on them. Because I'm that freaking cold. Yes I have socks on. I'm a mom. I got it. Slippers too. I'm not too dumb. 

Phineas and Ferb marathon. 

He's chewing Pink Kitty's tail. Thank you Momma Teresa for the fabric so I could repair her tail. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Prepping for the new track lights. 

I'm seeking warmth. Chasing the sun. 

He's coming back to the living. Meds were late this morning. He's still got yesterday's medical patches on his back. Transdermal medication delivery. There haven't been a lot of seizures, but there was a lot of action the past couple of days. 

Monopoly. 

Birthday party. 

Good stuff. But stressful none the less. Eustress.  

Oh, and as a reminder, Mrs. Anderson, you're recovering from chemo and radiation. 

Maybe going to kickboxing twice last week was too much too soon....? Maybe sustain frequency and decrease activity. Be easy on yourself, Doak.

Did I remember to take my meds the past couple of days? 

They say that for every dose of chemo, it takes a month to recover. That's a dozen treatments and a dozen months. A year. I stopped September 21st. It's barely been 5 months. 

Radiation. Twenty-two treatments. Or was it 21? Lynn the Rock Star Nurse could look it up. I'm struggling to recall the exact number. I know my last radiation treatment was on my 43rd birthday. November 19th. It's only been 3 months. 

I could log on to Epic and look up the number of treatments I had, but I'm tired. I don't want to be at the computer (thank you Blogger app). I don't want to grade. Or write those letters. Or send those emails. And make those phone calls. But I do. 

Be easy on yourself. You have labs on Wednesday. Hopefully the cancer is nowhere to be seen. Hopefully I'm not pregnant. I'm supposed to be sterile now. But Christ knows that's the last goddamned thing we need. Chemo throws a girl into menopause. My period may or may or come back. 

Coldness. 

Heaters on. 

Quilt. 

Hat. Beanie, really. Black. "I'm fighting cancer. What's your super power?" Written in a script. In silver glitter. With the double Wonder Woman W. Best skullcap ever. Thank you Momma Christine. 

Yoga pants. 

Long sleeves. 

Black Columbia fleece vest. 

Cold. 

I'm trying. 

The sun is peaking out. I'm thankful for the southern facing skylights. 

But it's colder than it looks outside.

The bird feeders are empty. 

The wind blows. 

More clouds....... 

I hear the wind chimes my uncle Chris bought for me when I was a young woman and had just turned 21. 

I need to see him. 

And my dad. 

And my mom. 

My bro. 

Meet his girl. 

Warm up.  

I'm trying. 

I'm overwhelmed. 

I cry a lot. 

I'm recovering. 

I'm trying to not be angry. 

When was the last time I medicated and practiced yoga? 

I'm dealing with a lot. 

And wondering when, and if, his voice will return. 

Reminding myself to eat, even though I don't feel like it.

Trying......

Trying......

Trying to move forward.