Monday, November 04, 2002

I've been told four times in the last week that I look good, not hot/good, but healthy/good. It makes me wonder just how bad I looked before, although it may be attitude. I feel healthier, I feel like I've put it behind me somehow. Not the fact that I have had (have?) (had?) cancer, but the fact that I was sick from the treatment for so long. I look back on it and realize just how horrible it all was. When it was happening, it was really a matter of degrees--it creeps up on you. The daily grind of it--everything was a chore. Eating, showering, choking down all those pills (note to pharmaceutical industry-put a candy coating on those things!). Part of me wonders exactly what I did during all that time. I had goals! Not unreachable ones, like learning another language, but I thought I could at least get Conor's pictures in an album. It's easy to forget how labor-intensive being ill can be. Now I know why people from work asked if I was going to work from home.

And how did I deal with chemo every week? If I hadn't had feeling like crap to keep me occupied, Kevin might have had to drag me down there each week. Well, if I hadn't felt like crap I wouldn't have needed the dragging.

Every once in a while I have one of those horrible attention-getting thoughts--what if it comes back? Compared to the permanent side effects of a bone marrow transplant (the typical treatment for a recurrence), my chemo has left me relatively unscathed. I remember seeing the BMT patients (and even now) feverently hoping I will never be one of them. But I must be feeling better because I'm making tasteless jokes about it. Just last month I tried on a dress I've had for ages and it was a bit tight and I told Kevin I'd need more chemo to fit into it.

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