Just tired

I suspect that today is Friday, and that means I did chemo about 3 days ago.
And I am tired.
I am tired in a variety of ways you may or may not want to hear about.

See, there is the standard sort of tired I get, from the steroids keeping me awake and all that. I’ve made a bunch of noise about that already and besides, we have adjusted my medication and I am actually getting a bit more sleep this time around.

I’m tired of lots of things.

I’m tired of having to think about cancer every goddamn day, even when I tell myself I am not going to, for just one day, I am not going to think about cancer or mortality or how my life got so completely ass-backwards in a matter of months.

I’m tired of being a special consideration when any event is going to happen. I would give a lot to just be a regular person again.

I’m tired of having these crazy circumstances wear my girlfriend down.
And down, and down.
It sucks when you want so much to make someone happy and all you can see is the stress and the strain you are causing.

I’m tired of being an inverted Pez dispenser, always slamming some new drug combo down my throat and walking around in a stupor.

I’m tired of stressing about how I will make ends meet when my EI claim ends next month and I have to go on welfare.
I guess that’s just more of that humility crap that they think so fondly of in the 12 step programs. Ironic though, no?

I’m tired of wondering whether I feel weird because I have a 10 inch scar on my belly where they ripped my guts out, or if I am tired because of the chemo, or if I am just tired of having to always try to be brave and optimistic and hopeful, in spite of my statistics.

I’m tired of the civil war of hormones going on inside my body, and the way all the parts inside my head crash into each other. I’m tired of wondering whether the inside of my head is mental because some strange man just yanked a bunch of vital parts out, or maybe I am mental because I haven’t taken the time to process what that’s like, or maybe I haven’t taken the time because there was already a chemo needle in my arm and we were off and running on a whole new adventure.
I’m tired about wondering about memory loss and whether it’s starting to happen. I’m tired and I can’t accurately describe what I have already whined about already in this post.

And then when the wonderful world of mental started to seep in again, I got to wonder if it was menopause or the steroids they gave me to make me feel less crappy. But now we can toss in a little estrogen and HRT, if I want, so I can never know what I am thinking or feeling or being pissed off by.

I’m tired of having a life where, often, the high point of my day is walking to the library.
You know, just some small glimmer of independence.

I’m tired of having to be so reliant on my friends and loved ones and wondering and worrying about how I can ever repay the people who have been so kind and attentive.

I’m also more aware of times people in my life have been worn down or tired or just needing some extra help and seeing how I wasn’t always very good at that, so I get to learn something now and try to do it better in the future.

I have every intention of coming out the other side of this as a nicer, more compassionate person.
And I reckon I will.
Just right now I am tired.

And what I am tired of, almost more than anything, is all those fuck-whad lousy dickheads who throw their garbage in my yard for me to clean up.
I mean, when I was a kid, we had littering spanked out of us, and I don’t know who dropped the wooden spoon and razor strop, but geez, to look at my garden, you’d never know anyone ever taught the little buggers that the world is not their personal cess pool.
And an even bigger thanks to the wanker bastards who just dump whole lots of shite in my back alley for me to clean up.
Hey, I don’t mean to be too much of a sissy here, but I have no goddamn immune system. Much as I would otherwise be delighted to clean up after you, because who wouldn’t, you are putting my health at risk by being such a lazy little wanker bastard.

Still, in spite of my platinum grade whining here today, I have the chance to spend a day or so on Galiano, if all that works out.
And I may be able to go kaykaying on Bowen Island with the big angry, mod, fag-tease.
And, the truth of it is, I have been having a major craving to be back at Tofino, or maybe up around Quadra Island.
I love the North Island a huge amount.
And the last trip home from Tofino was all shadowed in the ‘oh-shit, what’s going to happen with this surgery.’
So, we had a vacation, but it seems so long ago now. The welcome home bubble burst kinda quickly.
Maybe with any luck, we can get up to some wild chunk of ocean when all these treatments are finally said and done, in the winter/Xmas/New Year’s time.
That’s my big hope.

And the biggest irony, for me, is I had such a totally phuqued summer last year. All I really really wanted was for this summer to get great and sweet and relaxing. Just a regular little human drill… go to work, hang out with friends and loved ones and lover-girrl and make some fud with folks and lay around and laugh.
I had it all planned out.
It was my cosmic compensation for how shitty last summer was.
Imagine my surprise. Shit.

And believe it or not, I miss working and having a sense of purpose that was more involved and more connected with the world than walking to the drusgstore and getting my prescriptions refilled or ‘golly are we out of soymilk?’.

Gabor Mate says, in his book, When The Body Says No, that one of the contributing factors to who gets cancer and who doesn’t is…. anger.

So, thanks, Gabor, tonight I am angry.

And that feels like a good direction to be taking it in.
At least for the time being.
Now I just need to figure how to live with it and arrange it in ways that are appropriate and not just crab around and make everyone around me sad or spooked.

Luckily I have lots of time to work out my strategy.