I'm compulsively doing laundry. I have it in my head that when I come home from the hospital everything must be clean. Clean sheets, clean towels, clean socks, each and every one, clean kitchen, clean bathrooms. I left too many things until the last minute. Tomorrow a friend is taking pictures of my breasts. I may never look at them, but I know I'll regret it if I don't do it... I've known this for ages, but waited until the last minute because I dread doing it.
I was trying to help J with his math homework an hour ago, converting feet into meters and meters into feet and my brain froze. It just goes blank and I freeze and don't know what to do, it's disconcerting. A few minutes later he says "that's o.k., you're just a little scrambled in the head from the chemo." Scrambled in the head, I laughed so hard, I think my nickname should be scramble-head, because it's true. I'm scrambled in the head and soon to be more so.
I hear the clock ticking, I feel like I'm getting ready to go to jail or be executed and I'm not sure what to do with my last days. It's one thing when you wake up in the hospital because you've been in an accident and another to calmly walk in there of your own volition so they can do unpleasant things to you. It seems surreal. I'll send Jonah out the door to the school bus, take a really quick shower using the special anti-germ soap I've been given and walk up to the hospital and check in. I'll go in feeling great and come out feeling terrible, on the surface that seems like a poor choice. I've so desperately enjoyed feeling better these past couple of weeks, I really hate to give that up, for any amount of time at all.