It’s Friday night, and I’ve been quite lethargic all day, like I’m literally running out of juice. Because I am. The chemo eats up all the cells in my blood stream, good and bad, and I coast on whatever’s left. The best way to describe it is to imagine wearing clothing made out of lead. The clothes are heavy and hard to move around in, but manageable for short periods. As long as I just sit and don’t move, I feel pretty good. But when I have to get up (and you know that I do), it’s quite an effort.

So far, the biggest effect of this chemo is the fatigue. I have noticed some puffiness here and there, some achiness, an odd itchy rash, and some acne-like bumps on my face; all pretty minor things. The fatigue is the worst on Fridays, but by Monday, I’m much, much better. I still have my hair, and there’s something else: my eyelashes are thicker than they’ve ever been. Quite a change from a year ago when I didn’t have any at all.

Yes, it’s been over a year of living with cancer. And I am finally taking care of something that should have been taken care of years ago. I’m making a will. Eventually, I’m going to need it, so now’s a good time. Boy, what a lot of people to think about: the executor, the trustee, the power of attorney, the health care power of attorney. And these people should not be chosen lightly: they are the ones responsible for making decisions on another’s behalf. Mine, in this case, so I want those people to know my wishes and carry them out as well as they can. And then there’s the personal property to deal with. Honestly, who wants my music? My old paperback books? My pretty red plates? It’s funny (and you know that I mean not funny at all) that I thought that I didn’t have much, really; just a small houseful of house stuff—ordinary clothing, regular furniture and appliances, nothing classic or antique, it’s just stuff. But it’s mine, and I have to decide what happens to it. The lazy dog is no help whatsoever. We even had a conversation about it:

Me: So who do you think will want this jar of seashells?

Dog:

Me: What about my favorite coffee cup?

Dog:

Somehow I get the impression that as long as he gets the occasional doggy cheese snack, all will be right in his world.

I have to say, that a lot is right in my world, too, even on these rough days. I have family and friends who care, plenty to eat, a job to go to, and hope for the future. Not too shabby, I think.

¶ 5:15 PM