Saturday, June 21, 2008


It’s Saturday. I’m off of treatment on the weekends. And I still feel just awful.

Part of that might be, because it’s hotter than Hades outside. We ran errands this morning: Trader Joe’s; a big-box bookstore (I got an origami book and Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips; yes, I recommend it), a car wash. We were both dragging. I had said I’d vacuum; we both took naps when we got home, instead. And every time I got up, I felt like a cement mixer.

I did manage to vacuum one room, after I took a Compazine. And then I lay back down again.

I thought I’d feel human on my days off. I don’t have a fever, and I’m not sleeping all day. But there is absolutely nothing fun about this. I got all weepy this morning, for no reason I could put my finger on. I just needed to cry. Thinking about it, I want to again.

I want off the cancer bus. I feel like I’d be healthy without the interferon. But I don’t know that’s true—and it’s way too big a risk to even consider. So then: one week down, 51 to go.

Nausea: yes. Weepiness: yes. Bathroom irregularities: yes (as in, either explosions or nothing). Fatigue: yes. On my infusion days, I’m bored stiff in the chair for two and a half hours, and come home and sleep all afternoon. I don’t feel depressed, so much as frustrated, tired, and sad.

Protect your skin, all of you. I never meant to go here.


Caminante said...

Off to church where I will light the first candle of the morning for you. Mary will watch over it today and you. I am so sorry for the continuing urpitude, most especially for what it's doing to your soul.

Not to be preachy (but it's Sunday morning, so please forgive), when one part of our body gets out of whack, the other parts do -- it's a perichoresis of the physical, spiritual and emotional (methinks). Are your tears the effects of an uneven dance of energy?

So prayers continue. (And chemo and canser suck, there's no way around it.)

Ann said...

Rest in our prayers.

Paul said...

May a golden cushion of light carry you. I felt one as I lay in pain and exhaustion from hepatitis many years ago and hope something similar will allow you to find respite. I was certain it was the prayers upholding me when I could not, by any stretch of the imagination, hold myself.

Jane R said...


Kirstin said...

Caminante: I'm sure they are, but I don't know how to even it out. (I love the word "perichoresis," btw.) If I had any energy, I'd get some kind of exercise. My stomach is too shaky for much.

((((Everyone)))) Thank you.

FranIAm said...

(((Kirstin))) I cannot even imagine, I send you prayers and light always.

My prayer is for you to be held aloft on the wings of angels, as much as is possible.

Peace to you dear sister and friend, peace, consolation, healing.

It is an honor to be able to walk with you on your journey, I just wish that this was a journey that you did not have to take.

susankay said...

Kirstin -- I think your soul is probably just fine -- think Who is taking care of it. Your body and your mind are understandably hurting and pissed.

Sometimes the "short form of the Serenity Prayer" is the only appropriate response. You don't know that? It's f**k it!

Be well.

Jane R said...

It sounds like being on a huge bunch of ocean waves on a tiny little boat. You can't really do anything about the waves, but the boat is solid, it is just going to get bounced around a lot.

Jesus, of course, is right there on the water with you.

Eileen said...

You have been much in my prayers. My next door neighbor's brother was on interfuron for Hep C...he was miserable, so I know it can be a hard road, but I'll lend you all the support I can through prayer.

Jane R said...

Just stopping by again to leave a prayer and some good thoughts... May the healing Spirit of Christ be with you.

Grandmère Mimi said...

Kirstin, once again prayers and loving thoughts flowing your way.

"I never meant to go here."

Of course not, love. Maybe the whole year won't be this bad? I pray not.

Eileen said...

Still praying (((((You)))))

Joan Calvin said...

I happened upon your blog (avoiding writing my sermon) on RevGalBlogPals. I was diagnosed with ovarian on March 31. Been doing chemo since early May. It is awful, awful, awful. My prayers are with you. Cancer is such a surprise. I never went to go here either. My last chemo (God willing) is July 3. My prayers are with you.

susan s. said...

I thought I had commented here earlier! ((((Kirstin)))). Are you going to be at The Ranch next weekend?

it's margaret said...


You continue in my prayers. Did you get a prayer shawl yet?

Hang in there--chemo is survivable; cancer is not.

many blessings upon you --margaret