Tonight is a low night. I’ve held on pretty well all day, but now I’m tired and my resolve is gone. I feel lousy and I look worse. Self-pity isn’t my goal, I’m just being real.
My muscles are weak, my hands hurt. My feet are numb and I’m achy. I’m on my third nosebleed today. My eyes are weepy but the skin around my eyes is so sensitive that it hurts to wipe them. My face is puffy and swollen, and with my bald head, I look like I’m eighty. I have gained so much weight that I feel awkward and ugly.
My husband is sweet and wants to encourage. “Only three treatments left.” Only three. That means four more weeks of this battle, this fatigue, this feeling like I’ve been run over. I’m over tired, and I know I’ll feel better, at least mentally, tomorrow. But somewhere tonight, there is another woman in my shoes who needs to know she is not alone.
Sister, where we are is an awful place to be. It’s hard, it’s mentally draining, it’s physically demanding, it’s maddening. But it’s temporary. One day, we will be done with all this and look back and not remember how hard it all really was.
For tonight, I’ll fight through and you do the same. We can make it. One foot in front of the other, step after weary step. I won’t give up if you won’t. And though I don’t know you, I know you are out there. I’ll pray for you as I go off to sleep.
We can do this. We have to.