Photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash

Yesterday I woke up to a stomach so loud the neighbors across the creek probably heard. Not so bad on its own, but the nausea and headache I could have done without. It felt like a hangover, but at Taste of Colorado the night before I’d had two Dixie cups of cheap white wine. How was that enough to make me sick? Or maybe I was dehydrated? Port-a-potties were in short supply and $5 water too rich.

More likely it was the drug, Arimidex, which I’d started taking Tuesday. Is this what I’m in for, I wondered. For five years?

The first five days hadn’t bothered me, but neither had the first few days of chemo, or the first few weeks of radiation. But once the doses pile on, look out. (I’m still hurting from radiation and the last day was over a month ago.)

I didn’t exercise, didn’t cook, didn’t do much at all yesterday—which is what scared me. I don’t have a lot to show for myself from the last fifteen years of good health, what will five years of misery do to my productivity?

Bob urged me not to worry. “Let’s see how you feel tomorrow.”

What, me worry? There’s no molehill that I can’t make a mountain out of. At the very least the pile of vegetables I bought would go bad while I felt too crummy to cook them.

I curled up on the couch while Bob went out for takeout. A “mountain” pizza for him, and a “prairie” for me. My appetite rarely fails me—not necessarily a good thing.

The local take on thin crust and deep-dish turned out to be quite tasty. We ate well and then went to bed early, like 9 PM.

As Bob predicted, I woke up today without the rumbling and without the misery that went with it. I feel good. Whew.

Now no excuses—if I’m not going to be miserable for the next five years, I need to make the most of them.