#6

I almost hate to even document this. Number 6 has been a bitch. I'm glad it's the last one. Thursday and Friday I was fine. Even did Christmas shopping on Friday. I even felt good enough to take a Saturday morning trip with mom to the fabric store, neice and nephew in tow.



M.I.S.T.A.K.E.



We made it to the store and almost home. Nephew (just a few months old) was hungry, so I suggested we stop @ McDonalds and she could feed him and I would get Neice a Happy Meal. Got everyone fed and happy and started cleaning up the table. I started feeling funny. But I was SURE I could make it to the car. Um, no. I made it about 3 steps and fainted. 3 customers caught me so at least my head didn't hit the floor. But I landed on my foot, with my foot completely extended. 2 men helped me to the car, and we headed home. By the time we got there, I wasn't feeling as swimmy-headed, but my foot had swelled. Off to the ER we went. We still don't know why I fainted - we are guessing that my blood pressure just dropped, a common side-effect of the chemo. And the foot isn't broken, but I still have to be careful. Still swollen, but not broken.



I'm still tired. I feel like I can't get caught up on my sleep. But this is the last one, right? A few more days, a few more days.



But the humiliation keeps rolling in. Because fainting in public wasn't bad enough, let's add a little more helplessness to the table. Last night my knees were killing me. Side effect of the Neulasta. Nothing I couldn't handle, but I thought a nice warm bath would help. Sure enough, it provided some temporary relief. I was ready to get out. I still don't like just pulling up straight with my arms - like a normal person. I always feel like my boobs are going to pop out of their pockets. Irrational, I know. But I just roll over and get up to the side. Well, apparently, that won't work. I put pressure on the wrong part of the injured foot. Fell in the tub like an old lady. All I could think was "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" I sat and cried for a few minutes. Then Mike came in and helped me up. And when he and Evan left for guitar, I cried some more. Because all I could see was what he must have seen: a fat, almost bald, old, pitiful lump that couldn't even get out of the tub by herself. I have never felt more helpless in my life. And if there is one thing I HATE, it's feeling helpless.

Just one more blow to the ego after another. But this is the last one. The very last one.