Tiredness

After surgery for my first cancer, I was home recuperating, lying on the couch, and feeling overwhelmingly tired. Not just lazy-tired or too-much-exercise tired. Bone weary, effort-to-breathe, feeling-the-crushing-weight-of-your-own-body tired. Every ounce of energy was required just to speak one word. This had gone on for days, and I had forced myself to do things like take a shower, eat, change my nightgown. I was weary beyond description and there was no improvement, not even a tad. So there I was lying on the couch and wanting desperately to sleep, but I had to go to the bathroom. I debated with myself whether I should get up and walk the dozen steps to the bathroom, or just lay there longer. I sighed and said out loud, "If I weren't so tired, I'd go to the bathroom," whereupon my son Kiel roared with laughter. At the time, his outburst wasn't funny. It made me cross and I thought him unsympathetic. It was months before he could explain what was so funny about that statement.

"Mom," he said. "Think about it. When people say what they would do if they weren't so tired, it would be to go to the Caribbean or run a marathon or climb a mountain. Maybe they would go out dancing or bowling or shopping or hang with their friends. That's what I expected you to say. That you wanted to do something interesting or exciting or at LEAST get out the front door!" I finally got it. And he's right. My limited vision and miniscule goal which looked like some gargantuan and daunting task were downright laughable to a normal person, especially a young kid. It's become a standing joke around our place. When things aren't moving along fast enough, inevitably someone will say, "If I weren't so tired. . . "

This past year has worn me out. The monthly trips to New Haven for yet another test, another doctor's appointment, another round of "something doesn't look quite right - we need another test" is tiresome. I appreciate that they are aggressively cautious, but it requires stamina to keep allowing them to run those interminably lengthy tests requiring you to lie perfectly still for hours while the machine whirs and bangs about you, to keep putting your arm out there for an IV stick, especially when you have no good veins anymore. I used to have veins that popped out and yelled "pick me." But after the chemo, they not only hide, they crumble easily. It takes thumping, pounding, gravity, warm towels and children sized needles to get an IV in these days. Often the first one blows and they have to try again. And one wonders how much radioactive material one body can tolerate before glowing in the dark. More and more I wonder that I just lie there and let them do this to me. What am I thinking!!!

There are up sides of course. I get out of work and have a whole hour driving by myself each way which I take full advantage of for music listening. I plan in advance, check out the CDs from the music library, explore composers, genres, text settings. That part has been marvelous and no small treat after facing all that hospital faulderaul on one's own. There's also watching other people. It is enlightening to observe how people handle cancer. After all, everyone is at this clinic for the same reason. I have seen it all - tears, anger, denial, pain, degeneration, kindness, caring, thoughtlessness, stupidity. And there is the beautiful scenery during the drive. Connecticut is a gorgeous state. Mountains, oceans, views extraordinaire. And I am usually not driving during rush hour, so traffic is not heavy or hostile. I reserve the right to treat myself in some way after the test - perhaps a decadent chocolate dessert or a walk on the beach or buying a new scarf even though I hardly need any more.

I have been telling myself for some time that the tiredness would go away once my body had time to overcome the damage of the chemo, radiation, drugs, and surgery. I'm not anemic or anything after all. But I have not had more than a day or two of the kind of energy I was used to before the cancer. I told myself that my energy is low because I am working two jobs and raising a teenager, and one should be tired from all that. I don't get very many days off. There is always something to take care of. And I get to work harder at doing things because chemo brain gets in the way and I have to spend more energy for the same output as before.

My sisters laugh at me and say, "Yeah, she's functioning on a normal level now just like the rest of us. She'll get used to it." But I don't want to. I know better is possible. I want my old self back. My real brain, my real body, my real drive, my given allotments. So I push forward. I am not bereft on the couch yet. I may get to that point, but today I can choose to set my sights on Mount Everest, not the bathroom. I can ask God to give me strength to do not only those things I need to do, but those things I desire to do. The Psalmist said God gives us the desires of our hearts. I believe He not only causes us to long to do things, but enables us to do the things we long for. Cancer tired or not. Old or young. Easily or with difficulty.

And the tiredness will have to wait. It will have to wait while I take Drew to the movies, and share the joy of my brother and new sister-in-law as they celebrate their quiet wedding, and spend time with my Mom on Mother's Day, and talk with my sweet grand-daughter on the phone, and balance my checkbook so I know how much I can send to feed hungry children. Tiredness can have its sway when I am dead. Today it will not be allowed.