randomness

thoughts from Stage IV cancer:. (The post title is literal, this is a brain dump-and none of these is about anyone in particular.)

I have many posts rolling around my (foggy from chemo) brain all the time. Why haven't I posted them, you ask? 
Because I can't catch up.  I can't catch my breath, metaphorically.  I moved  for better accessibility (haven't completely finished moving, and leaving my long-time home for this reason sucks), and have treatment every 3rd week. The chemo drugs are increasingly more intense, the side effects lasting longer. I don’t yet know how effective the treatment is, or what dosage and frequency will work best.
And part of me welcomes that, the just-doing-the-next-thing vibe and not looking anywhere else-it's a respite, a place to hide sometimes from the really scary shit to which my brain tends to attach, and focus.

*my hair was thinning, so I got it cut about 6 weeks ago.
Then it was falling out, so I went and got it shaved (well, buzz cut.)
They way I WEPT. I could never have predicted the depth of grief I'd feel at losing my hair.

*If you have AppleTV, "Margo Has Money Troubles" is worth a watch. (That is said as I'm watching episode 3.) Especially if you are a Nick Offerman fan.

*if you encounter someone who is in chemotherapy, don't say to them "If I got cancer, I wouldn't do chemo. I wouldn't put that poison in my body." 
I'm going to write a whole post about this, but please:
Just don't.
Similarly, comments about any treatment.   I got various comments about the surgery I had in January, that folks would NEVER do that without a second opinion.
No one cares what you'd do if you hypothetically got cancer. Especially not those of us who f*cking have it.

I was at an event recently, in a community with which I'm pretty involved. I had on a chemo hat (soft bamboo baseball-cap like thing) and a KN95 mask. Someone I've known for years INTRODUCED themselves to me. He didn't recognize me. (see above point about losing my hair.) I took off my mask for a second and smiled and he was like "BETSY!". We had a chuckle. When I left, I said "nice to meet you" and we had another chuckle.

*The love and support that I'm experiencing from people is almost excruciating sometimes.  Hyperindependence is a trauma response, and one I had nearly perfected.  I not only need the support now, I cherish it. And it also feels uncomfortably vulnerable.
(also a separate post on this.)

*I'm scared. 
*I'm angry.
*And I've never ever been this motivated, and this hopeful.

image: the front of a t-shirt I bought recently that says "Dear Cancer, You picked the wrong b*tch."