So it's been two and a half weeks of daily radiation appointments, chemo treatments, and yourn host losing her respective mind as she learns how to sleep again. Learns how to relax. Learns how to turn off "emergency brain" and get back into "post shockwave, yet highly stressful normal" which emphasizes every daily grind deficit I have.
The twice daily dressing changes. The 8:00 AM appointments in a place that makes hospice burnout look good. Okay I am not being fair, but the chemo place has it's challenges for us. They do seem to do good work for other people, and we've finally taught them how to deal favorably with Matt's unusual problems.
Like sitting down in hard narrow chairs without arms is torture and a literal pain in the tumor, which coincidentally happens to also be in the ass.
I'm just fracking tired. And I had no desire to write about any of it. In fact, I have had no desire to write about anything at all... save for a few bright lights that clued me into the fact I can't just turn my back on writing forever. I still have the bug.
Those little moments I use to update blogs and write stuff... has been used for things like... tuning out the world, staring at walls, walking in parks, and in general, cautiously preserving what little sanity I have left.
Yeah, I was great fighting fires and running to the ER every day. This, "Cancer as an every day reality thing?" Not so much. Then again, it pretty much ate up my reserves and now I have time to deal with the fact that they are gone and need recharging.
But what prompted me to post is that there is only one and a half weeks left to go in this ongoing struggle to kill the mango of death. It's now about the size of a dried up mission fig that got run over by a waffle truck.
They say that the tumor *should* be dead about six weeks after that.
I promise to update more often than I have before, but might not be every day.
Love you all. Stay frosty, my friends.
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