I was pretty sure I've used the word "betrayal" in a post title previously, but looking back, I guess I haven't. Given that this probably won't be the last time I use this word, I'm parenthetically labeling it.
It's been almost a week since round deux from the attack of el diablo chemo (bear with me as I code switch like a brook from Babel), and it's been a tough week. On Thursday, Dude and I made a run across the border for some goody goods, and I was doing alright then, with the help of a handful or two of pills. On Friday, the big Reconciliation fundraiser dinner in Chinatown took place--almost 700 people in attendance! I donned Jocelyn (if you recall, my curly red wig) and a cougar-like dress (even had a full-on boob slip when I took the camcorder bag off my shoulder! I felt soooo Paris Hilton, except that I probably blushed when it happened and not acted like it was just what I do every day). It was great seeing so many people and getting all the hugs, but truth be told, I was painfully pooped out after an hour. I was feeling kinda whoozy, and nothing tasted right. I was lucky that I was able to get home and in my PJ's by 10:30 pm.
On Saturday, the fun continued with Dude's conference at SFU downtown. I actually was okay for most the day, and spent the time working at the display table, content to hammer away at the food book that should have been done by now. But by the time 3 pm rolled around, I hit a big old wall of fatigue.....which has continued up until now. Yesterday, DH, the kids, DH's sister and her family and I went to a friend's brother's farm, where the kids had an absolute blast, the time of their lives. Me....again, the fatigue was nothing less than torture.
It's hard to describe this type of feeling to anyone who hasn't experienced it. The closest I can come to is probably something remotely similar to the fatigue a woman has when she's in the first trimester of her pregnancy. But it's not the type of tired that a nap can or will cure. Actually, I'm finding it very hard to sleep when I'm feeling like this. It's like there's no comfort to be had in the body whatsoever.
This is where the betrayal comes in. If it's true that the mind and body are one, or can be one, how can the body betray the mind so heavily to the point of it being a full-scale attack? Loads have people have advised me on visualization, that if I talk to the cancer or imagine it going away, it will. But when my body is like this--with my body betraying me in such a way--how am I to believe that? My body is doing things despite itself, and I know that's a product of the chemo. Even some of my moods are a product of the chemo. I have to say it again, even just to remind myself--I'm being poisoned. And right now, my body is not my own, that is, if my mind is still my own.
Very recently, I've become obsessed with the name Moxie. I read it somewhere in a magazine called Craft, which was a handy distraction during my chemo session last week. I like the name, and the word, Moxie. I keep telling DH that when we have another kid, whether boy or girl, I want to name him or her Moxie. I keep telling him when. . .not if. I know that against the better judgment and advice of some people, I probably shouldn't wish for or desire something that there's a great chance I won't be able to have, which is a third child. But I just feel at this very moment, that perhaps that kind of desire is exactly what I need.