Countdown to number six

My sixth chemo round seems to be sneaking up a bit more quickly than I expected. My tongue, which was burnt, then dry, then sore, has now completely healed. My feet, which felt like raw meat, now only feel a bit tender when I get up in the morning. No more hot flashes. And chocolate tastes good again. So let's start it all again on Friday, shall we?

The only other strange thing I've noticed over the past couple of days is a few twinges of pain in my breast. Can't be a good thing, but not sure how much I need to worry about that. I pushed myself over the weekend a bit - taking two big walks with some decent inclines - and last night I felt crushed and depressed. I thought it was a cold coming on, but today I felt fine again. In general, I feel like I'm in a strange state right now.

I read an article that a cancer cousin sent me the other day about how post-treatment was a bitch. The roller coaster of mistrusting your body and trying to figure out what the new normal should be makes many a survivor feel pretty crazy, and without the good excuse of having cancer. In other words, the world moves on from your disease and you can't. It definitely gave me pause. I had no idea how I would react to the diagnosis and treatment and now I have no idea how I'll react to life post-cancer.

I do know that these last days before the next round are all the same. I go into a bit of a frenzy of forced self-discovery. What am I afraid of? Let's explore it! What food am I craving? Let's eat it! What have I always been meaning to clean/sort/fix/write/organize? Let's fucking do it all, man!! Nesting on overdrive.

But I'm not dreading Friday. I know I'm not allergic to the latest cocktail. I know I likely won't get any nausea. I know I can deal with the stabbing pains and puffiness and general geriatric feelings for two weeks before it's all better again. I'm getting used to this gig.