Yet for me it has been dragging on. Some moments have been in slow motion. Some days are cut up into units of time marked by medication, nausea, sleep, snacks, television shows, showers, barfing...
Tomorrow is my last infusion. Each one has been different. This last one brought the nausea. Lots and lots of nausea. At the start of week three (the good week) I barfed. I FUCKING BARFED! I hate barfing. As I was barfing I kept thinking... is this really happening? Week three and I'm barfing?
This whole process is wearing me down mentally. I'm impatient and critical. My internal dialog is nothing like my external dialog. I've been using little tricks to keep myself in check. It's sort of like when you get nervous before giving a presentation and imagine the audience in their underwear.
For example:
- A few days ago someone said that they were praying for me. I mentally decapitated them.
- Facebook friends that complain about their jobs, the weather, or the government have all been hidden.
- The bank teller that asks what I am up to this afternoon only receives the death stare. (Look we both know she is only trying to up-sell me so if you sit in judgement you can climb down off your high horse right now.)
- The know-it-all clown that declared the latest Star Trek movies as full of war, fist-fighting, and explosions and not keeping to the true essence of the original series received a mental smack down that Khan himself would have been proud of.
- That friend whose husband keeps acting like a jerk has been tied to an imaginary post and screamed at like a drill sergeant.
- Don't even get me started on the neighbors with the barking dog!
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