Tomorrow, another treatment, and today, I seem short of breath upon extended movement. I am not sure what that is, but it sort of comes and goes. One thing after another, day by day, it's like a cross-country race or something. Am I ever going to get there?
It’s one of those down days, when all the intentions, goals, and hopeful declarations feel impossibly out of reach. Everything I’ve read about this disease and its treatment says this is “normal.” But what exactly is normal about any of this?
Normal used to be heading out for a long run on a morning like this, or tearing down the road on my bike with my hair on fire. Now “normal” looks like an overdose of medications, endless doctor appointments, and long stretches of monotony—punctuated by constant reminders not to push myself too hard.
Is that really supposed to be normal?
Nausea is listed as a side effect of the treatment, and sure enough, that’s what this whole process gives me—physically and otherwise.
The information on the psychological aspects of this journey (to who knows where) also says that anger is part of the process. Well, if you can't tell already. I am angry. So I guess that makes me normal. Hip, Hip, Hurray!
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