A bad day

It's been a really shocking day. So glad it's almost over.  All I have to do is to finally finish the freelance story I've been working on for weeks, never being able to quite settle down to it. I stretched it out as long as I could, always having the excuse that I wanted to interview someone still.  I did the interview last week and I should have finished it by Friday. Today is Tuesday night and I am still only half way through. I can't focus and I don't really understand it at all. It's all too technical, my brain doesn't take it in. Not as bad as a year and a half ago, but still clearly chemo brain for sure. 

One thing I don't quite understand is why it's only the technical stuff that is so difficult and not the creative writing. Today I had an insight that might explain it. Maybe it has to do with left and right brain activity. The technical writing requires left brain virtuosity, while creativity resides in the right. So, my thinking is that maybe I have remnants of chemo-brain in the left.  This may just be rationalisation, but I'll mention it to the Professor tomorrow.  

As the day progressed and still nothing got done (on the writing front that is, I clipped the bush, cooked dinner, watched a movie, did some qigong exercises, etc) I got more and more hysterical. Finally I called Angela, my cancer counselor and luckily she had time to listen to all my nonsense.  She reckons I was just as flustered before I had my second year checkup with the surgeon, and this is just the same fear and also the worry about changing medication. Also, regarding the chemo brain, she said it's just part of the normal recovery that focus and clarity comes and goes. Darn, I thought I had overcome that problem already. 

Honestly, I think time is measured differently in cancer recovery from normal. Everything takes so long.  By the time you can say you have recovered, you either die of old age (wishful thinking) or the bloody thing comes back. I think I understand my sister-in-law Susan, who died of breast cancer 22 years ago. About 7 months before she died, when I realised how serious her situation was, I asked if she wanted me to approach my contacts at the National Institutes of Health for some new treatment. I was working at the Voice of America at the time and was a regular reporter working at NIH. She said no, she just wanted to live her life and then go. 

I must say I was shocked and didn't understand her attitude at all. Now I do. Considering how much better our treatment is today, I can imagine that she didn't want to go through the awful ancient chemotherapy again. Oh dear, why am I thinking so negatively?  Well, of course because I don't want to switch to Aramidex. The upside is that I do have a bargaining chip.  I called my endocrinologist and made an appointment to get my adrenal adenoma checked out. He should be able to tell me authoritatively about whether my fears about Aramidex are valid. The appointment is for July, so I bought myself some time. 

OK, Professor.  I got myself together.  Get ready, here I come!