Ambitions

This morning I had grand ambitions: I washed my hair. It almost did me in, and I staggered back to bed.

Things have been tough. Various people have assured me that the chemo after-effects last only a few days, but... No, I haven't been that lucky. I keep thinking that now, surely, I'm pulling out of it, only to be felled again. Ambitions keep having to be modified.

For anyone who has gotten a text from me assuring them that I'm doing "better" now, consider that if I am up to texting, I am by definition doing better than I am at my worst. Thus I always think I'm telling the truth at such moments, but those moments may be temporary.

I do have some hope for improvement, though. For one thing, more time has gone by, and the side effects do eventually resolve. For another, I've been prescribed a proton pump inhibitor, which can apparently be very helpful. And for a third thing, I have rediscovered the comfort of a traditional South Indian remedy, yogurt rice.

Meso messaging

Meanwhile, my daughter has indulged in some retail therapy on my behalf, including fitting us all out with anti-mesothelioma wear.

In other good news, my bodily fluids are no longer toxic from the chemo chemicals, and family members no longer have to use a different toilet or refrain from touching me if I break out in a sweat. A small win, but we take what we can get.