You never know exactly what your body is capable of until you test it. Just like your mind, you body stays in this safe little bubble, until some lurking predator comes around to investigate. You are faced with physical tests all of your life. As a baby, every organism around you screams "warning, germs approaching coming to infiltrate the small, warm, human body!" It gets worse when you enter kindergarten... then you have actual humans children carrying Lord knows how many diseases, as they pick their nose and wipe it on every available object. Skip ahead a few years (some a few years less than others, no judgment there), and you've got the kissing virus, when we all feared the plague known as mononucleosis. I think I probably self-diagnosed myself with mono five to six times a semester just to get out of the presidential physical fitness test or later, Mr. Kowalski's history class. When I think back to high school, I think of the studying and the pushing myself harder and harder every day, and I was healthy as a horse. My body was bruised and twisted from hours and hours of dance practice, followed by hours and hours of homework, followed by little to no sleep, all to do it again the next day. Then college followed. Forget about it. Combine all of the aforementioned predators, and add alcohol to the mix. Still, my body persevered, dare I say thrived in this environment. Then I moved to Chicago to pursue acting and my oh-so-driven boy scout attitude peaked, with an eight hour work day, 4 hour rehearsal, followed by several hours of "networking" at the bar closest to the theatre. Somewhere between the time that I moved here seven years ago, and now, I slowed down, took up yoga and healthy eating, probably because somewhere deep down my body new this was coming and couldn't possible sustain itself with this behavior.
So now, here I am, half way through my treatment, and I have to say, I am impressed with me, or I should say, my body, my veins, my blood cells, my ability to heal. I have to pump myself with drugs to get from one week to the next, but I'm walking around, taking my dog outside, and planning a trip to target. Don't get me wrong, these first four rounds have been pretty awful. Some days, I feel like I'm trapped in the body of an eighty year old women with the mind of a healthy thirty year old, with now way free. Some days, my digestive track is screaming at me, "You know you shouldn't eat that," while my taste buds are screaming," if you don't eat that, I will give you a mouth full of metal, and I mean it!" Migraines are new. Weight gain is new. Bone pain is new. Fatigue, probably the worst culprit of all, is new. I've had slight bouts of nausea, but nothing to write home about. Nothing a little sleeping pill or ginger tablet won't kill. These are just the physical symptoms of all this nonsense, dare I say, bullshit. The emotional stuff shortly follows, and that's when I feel the most alone. Cuz no matter how many people are around me, helping me, pouring me water, doing my dishes or my laundry, watching my puppy, its still just me going through this, and that just sucks. The good news is that I my body bounces back. After a long 7 or 8 days following treatment, My body is 80% back to normal. I can eat what I want, go on long walks, practice some yoga. (You would think yoga would be a no-brainer, at any stage of this messed up game, but oh, sister, is isn't.) So I just have to look forward to those days for the next 2-3 months and know, this hell I am putting my body through, is for its own good, my own good, getting any stray cancer cell lurking in the shadows. I just have to have to keep reminding myself, your body has been through 29 years of mild trauma, with attempted round-offs and kissing and frat party binge drinking... it can handle a few more months of this... surely.