Heading Underground {for now}

Chemo itself was fine... and I now have another fantastically named medical professional on board -- Nurse Abra, with a long A, so Aaaaabra Caaadaaaabra instead of Abra Cadabra, this fit's nicely with Rochelle Rochelle and Marlene at the Beach, I find symmetry and meaning in all these beautiful exotic caregiver names, like they are just the group for me.

But by 4:00 I was wobbly and slurring my words... by 5:00 my eye's were blurry slits, unable to focus or tolerate light... by 6:00 I was on the couch with an axe-lodged-in-skull caliber headache and churning stomach and nausea. I even phoned the on-call Doctor {drastic} who said it was o.k. to alternate advil and tylenol and hit the nausea meds early which I've done.

And then I did the thing I didn't want to do most... I sent my boys to their father's for the next three nights. I didn't actually send Griffin because he wasn't home from basketball yet, he'll simply have a different post-game destination, but I had to send my love-bug off because it's no good for him to see me clutching my head with tears welling up in my eyes, and nor can I care for him like this, and it would hurt his feelings terribly for me to be unable to engage in our nightly, prolonged, insane, before-bed-chatter-fest, and that would leave me even more demoralized -- bad for everyone, so I think the right thing was to send him off, I hope it was. I really didn't feel like I had much of a choice and sweet boy was a fine, good sport and delivered stuffed animals and chocolates to me on the couch before he left.

I feel so terrible and guilty about how worried he must be, because when you are the tender age of 10, you are not supposed to watch your mother have cancer, this is just cosmically wrong and it makes me furious. If you get the flu and your kid sees you sick, it sucks, but you can tell them you'll be better in a week or so... I have to tell the poor kid I'll be better in a year or so, and that's if all goes well, but I don't tell him that part. He's also never been to his father's for three consecutive nights so I hope he has good days at school and peaceful evenings and all goes well, I hope they can find some, thus far, elusive rhythm over there. I hope I can pop over for a quick visit at some point, but other than that I'm throwing in the towel.

Today at the hospital they told me that I have to get out of the way and let these drugs do their job. I have to relax and rest and be healthy and then just get the heck out of the way and let them work their funky-chemo-mojo-magic {I'm paraphrasing, I admit}. I feel backed into a corner and don't see any other option, so I have to let myself off the hook -- no more delusions about going to the studio, no errands, no homework... at least for a for a few days, which for me... is a really long time. And, well, a little longer if necessary.

I'm having a cup of ginger tea while typing through my hazy snake slit eyes and then going to bed with some podcasts, a warm hat and space heater. I'll be dreaming of the world's biggest margarita waiting for me in an icy, salted glass this summer on a warm, warm evening, and happy pot-luck dinners in my neglected yard, and if I'm tired I can swing in the hammock and listen to happy chatter.