Broken Doll

Tired. At least now being tired is not accompanied by that acid-burn deep in my limbs. But I feel aggravated over this weird transition period. Technically, I’m not sick anymore. But I’m not all together yet either. I get so tired after work. Absolutely exhausted in the morning too, although there’s a brief zone in early afternoon when I feel normal-ish.

And Sunday night I notice that my legs were swollen. Not just end-of-the-day kind of swollen, my ankles were huge and there was a quarter-inch dent where my sandal strap had been. Monday morning I get up and hope the swelling won’t return, but no such luck. My skin was so taut it was itching, and now a half-inch dent at the top of my boots. Called Doc and he told me to wait and see, and call him if it didn’t go away on its own. I’ve been wrapped up in compression bandages from knee to ankle for two days. They’re off now, so far so good…

I have so much to catch up on and no energy to do it. I work all day with annoyingly little to do, so I feel like I’m twiddling away perfectly good time that I could use for something I need it for, but there shall be no surfing for job openings from work. Ms. Micromanagement freaks if I spend five minutes checking email.

But then I get home, get through a run with slightly less staggering than before, and am wiped for the rest of the night. Even washing the dishes is too much. I am hating the wig and only wearing it now so Ms. Micromanagement doesn’t can me for not having a corporate-enough haircut.

I feel fragile. And I have so much shit to do.

Yup, it’s official.  Ain’t it a beautiful thing.

I’m feeling grumbly because I’m over a week out from the last, very final, chemo session and I still have the awful, low-grade but annoyingly chronic burning in my arms and legs, and that weird sensation of a lump in my chest (or waaayyy back in the throat, it is irritatingly elusive). It gets worse if I attempt to sit up for more than, say, half an hour, which pisses me off because I slept well last night and I’m not even all that tired.

Granted trying to work, even part-time, the week after really has gotten to the point of hideously awful by now, given that my body at this point wants to just throw up its hands at all of the toxic crap we’ve been pumping into it. Enough already. I’d start sweating and shaking by around noon or 1pm, and come home absolutely exhausted with my limbs burning like I had a hundred rats gnawing on my bones. And I was only working six-hour days, after taking Monday off completely to give myself a little extra time to recover.

I’m being intentionally lazy this weekend. I am hoping that the burning goes away completely by… well, by this morning would have been nice, but at least by Monday morning so I can move around the Faire without wanting to curl up into a ball.

This is soooo frustrating. I can lie on the couch, sure, but I don’t need to sleep. I’d rather be doing something, but then I run the risk of having the sweats sneak up on me and laying me out when I’m in the middle of it. Sigh.

I can’t wait til all of this goes away. I’m getting so fat that my tummy is uncomfortably in the way. I want to be able to run again. I want to stop being hot all the time. I want my hair back.

Gah.

My feelings have been complicated.

On the one hand, my last chemo session ever is in a week and I am elated. I am so anxious to put all of this behind me.

On the other, I have been miserable this week. Recovery from chemo, even to get to a minimal, I-can-get-out-of-bed level, takes so damn long now. It was today, a week, before the burning in my limbs quieted enough to not be annoyingly distracting. Monday morning I woke up at 5am bloated and in so much pain that I thought my gut was going to explode. Three hours and a disgusting cocktail of magnesium salts later, my bowels go to the opposite extreme and I spent most of the morning running back to the toilet.

I haven’t been able to sleep. Night sweats, hot flashes, thanks to chemo making me menopausal two months ago. More frequent now and it takes hours to get to sleep, and every night this week I’ve woken up multiple times because I’m too damn hot and sweating — and this is with a prescription sleeping pill and air conditioning. So I am constantly tired even aside from being run-down from chemo. I lie down at night exhausted and between the acid-ache in my body and the sweats I just can’t get to sleep. I don’t think it’s been earlier than 2am any night this week. Then waking at 4am, and again at 5, and again at 6.

And I wonder about the aftermath. What will it take to get my body back, the whole one, that could run 4 or 5 miles a day, drink occasionally, dance, push myself mentally and physically without completely falling apart. This body is broken and how long are the repairs going to take? The drugs made me gain weight so I’ve got 20 pounds or more to lose (I’ve been afraid to look at the scale). When will the hot flashes stop? When will the aching go away for good? When do I get my hair back? How do I recreate myself to be more like what I used to be? Can I do that?

What happens next?  Where do I go from here?

I’m tired and I want to sleep and I am wide, wide awake.

So. Turns out I was right and that blurring the line between personal friend and work colleague is a fantastically stupid idea.

Sarah sold me out. Sarah who drunkenly claimed to love me on any number of occassions. Sarah whom I used to respect as a colleague and used to consider a friend.

Just because I don’t look sick doesn’t mean that I am not. I mean, jesus. Would you have preferred that I bitch and moan and whine constantly about how bad I feel? Did you want me to curl up on the floor and whimper every time I got the shakes, or my chest hurt, or I couldn’t catch my breath even though I was just sitting down? Did you want me to chuck the wig in a box and come to work looking like a decaying skull with my thin, scraggly hair falling out all over the place? Do you really think that would have been better? Or would I have made you fucking uncomfortable?

Show a little fucking gratitude that you only had to watch this happen to someone else.

Sarah claimed to be my friend, but hasn’t attempted to contact me in any way since July 9 to explain herself or even to tell me to fuck off and die. If she’d called or emailed to apologize and say that he made the decision against her wishes that would be one thing.

Which only serves to emphasize the point that no one gets this. At all. Because they can’t, even if they want to (and even less so if you can’t be arsed to think beyond yourself). No one has any idea what this is like. I could explain til I’m blue in the face — and did, frankly, on the updates I sent out — and Sarah watched it happen and she still sold me out anyway.

There is nothing more despicable than a liar. Deceit and greed are the foundation of every other sin.

I can’t make anyone understand this. I am, ultimately, completely alone.

Today is the deadline for my ex-landlord to return my security deposit. His assistant tells me he never gave her the money to write the check, so I know it’s not in the mail. He himself has not returned my call. Of course not. Two weeks ago my mother drove by my old place and saw big red signs stating that the gas company was about to shut off service because dear darling landlord never paid them (to the tune of $800-plus).

Between the security deposit, moving expenses, and damages done by his workmen, he owes me over $3000. So now I have to wonder if he actually has the money to give me, or if he cavalierly (and illegally) spent it on little things like gutting and condo-izing the building he kicked me out of.

According to the city government folks, my single option is small claims court. Because, you know, this is a really good time for me to become mired in a court case. And spending even more money in legal fees. Right.

And even if I win, which should be a slam-dunk since it’s very clear they’re in violation of the ordinance, if the money doesn’t exist then what?

And of course this hitting me now, when I’m looking at tomorrow with a hell of a lot of dread and something akin to terror. It’s beyond nausea. It burns and twists somewhere deep inside, everywhere and nowhere. Even now I can’t even think about that stupid box lunch without feeling that burn and wanting to throw up. There is this awful smell which I’m not quite sure doesn’t exist entirely in my head. It’s this rank chemical smell which I swear is the chemo burning its way through me.

I didn’t get a chance to play at all this week, and next week I’ll be too sick. Maybe it would have helped. Maybe not.

I don’t want to be alone this weekend. I can’t do this anymore.