Still Counting

I continue with low dose chemo shots every two weeks. I see the Oncologist (or doctor’s assistant) every three months.

At some point between doctor visits I always conclude that next time I see her, I’m going to tell her that I’m exhausted more than ever, that my lagging, tingling feet are more full of sand than ever, and that the disconnect my body experiences when I stand from sitting very long is more apparent than ever.

Everything seems more than ever, and I don’t like it. But, when the time comes to actually roll out my list of complaints, I have to be honest and try to measure accurately.

Are my legs really heavier than ever? Feet more independent than ever? Ears ringing louder than ever? No, not really. It was nearly 100 degrees the day I wrote this. Maybe the temperature exaggerates my symptoms.

I can still walk. I function. I can speak clearly without raising eyebrows (a co-worker recently had a stroke and temporarily could not do this). I look, and right before my eyes there is a new blessing, like the birth of our first granddaughter.

And then there is another blessing, and another. They are unavoidable. They are countless. Realizing this again, I’m embarrassed about my relatively trivial complaints. I remain thankful to God.