I always think it's going to be different.
I say to myself, "This round of treatment, I will exercise and write and continue with my daily routine and see if that makes me feel better."
And thent, in the days that follow each dose of vinorelbine and Herceptin, I stay in bed too sick to do anything and lacking the self-discipline (motivation?) to try getting exercise, writing or going about my daily routine.
I don't even bother to eat well (although the soup I made the night before chemo was delicious and easy to heat up, so I did eat lots of that) or even do the easy things that might help (I was on the phone with my writing buddy and she asked if I'd been drinking hot water with lemon and ginger. Easy to prepare and she swears by it, yet I had completely forgotten).
I don't even drink enough water.
I just wait until the weekend when I know I'll feel better (unless I get sick, as I did yesterday and had to miss dinner with friends and my beloved book club).
I'm fed up.
Fed up with losing a week out of every month.
Fed up with having to constantly worry about my energy levels and not overdoing.
Fed up with not having answers and having to worry.
Sometimes I amuse myself (and no one else) by announcing, "I'm done. That's it!"
But I don't really mean it.
I know where I'd be if it weren't for all the chemo and the Herceptin. And I know that it's worth it.
And who knows? Maybe next time will be different.