Let's be honest. I was not my most poised on Sunday night. Growing angst and naseua should have been obvious indicators that I needed my friend Xanax. But it had been a lovely day and I am trying to master my mind rather than numb it.
On Sunday evening, I overestimated my authority or underestimated my angst. I lost my mind over Jim's neglect (aka complete and total failure to understand who I am and my needs) to buy me a water bottle for my first day of treatment. I sortof promptly apologized to Jim and didn't even use "my sickest day" as an excuse.
Earlier Sunday was better. As you may know, I was raised in a no tv no junk food household. The cupboard was bare of processed foods way before it was cool. There was no salt added and rarely red meat. I was the worst playdate. All I wanted to do was watch tv when I went to a friend's house.
The indoctrination was mostly successful. We eat well. No red meat really. Few processed foods. Miles' diet is, according to him, tragically bereft of desserts and juices.
On the tv front, Miles is nearly as (pop) culturally illiterate as I was (am). He watches no tv (except Wizards and Caps games) and sees a carefully cultivated list of programs on demand, no commercials with strict parental editorial control.
I am not a true believer, however. I crave a bit of junk food and mindless tv. And Sunday morning, my Mom and Rick came over and helped us break a long-standing family rule. There is now a tv in my bedroom and it is awesome.
Dani watched the boys and Jim and I spent our afternoon in a neighborhood dive bar. Alone at first and then joined by friends. It was perfect.
Fast forwarding through an animated discussion about the importance of hydration and a water bottle, Sunday night, I medicated and went to bed. Ian slept through the night for the FIRST time without a feeding at 4. Or as far as his medicated parents recall, he did. Either way, I should disclose that he slept in his car seat next to our bed.
Now for Day 1 of my recovery. Thank you for all the calls, emails and texts of support over the past few days. It means so much to me to glance at my phone and find a joke (it was terrible and perfect), see a picture, find a note, receive beautiful flowers (merci beaucoup, franscoise). I draw strength from your support and confidence in me.
Today was easy and today was hard. There was no other place I wanted to be. But that didn't make it easy to be there. A friend drove Jim and I and helped us pass the time. It was hugely helpful. I am no authority, but think I can reasonably conclude that I am the first chemo patient whose snackpacks included chocolate truffles, cornicions and goat cheese. I love you helping me cover all of the angles.
I nibbled on the snacks and visualized the 80s. I welcomed the chemo in the form of ms pacman traveling my system and enthusiastically gobbling the cancer wocka, wocka. The chemo is my friend. The chemo is my friend. Eat up. Wocka, wocka. (Thank you, Sue).
Back on the ground here, I feel lousy and I think today is supposed to be a good day. Mom and Jim and the boys are here and they are a comfort to me. What more could I ask.
