Part Sixty-Seven: From Head to Toe

            Sometimes my post-cancer-treatment body weighs me down.

            Today that familiar, acrid, slightly metallic taste lingers along my tongue, upper palate, and throat.  Immune to toothpaste, mouthwash, or breath-freshening mints, it stubbornly holds its territory.  I link it with the feeling in my stomach:  not nausea, but not pleasant.  I imagine damaged cells flaking off, leaving another layer of chemo-contaminated cells behind. 

            The soles of my feet started off numb this morning.  Occasionally, pain prickles or nerve tingles hit in random places from head to toe: fortunately, not everywhere at once.  Right now, my arms and legs itch despite the moisturizer I use.  Is the itch neuropathy, allergies, or fibromyalgia?  I don’t know.

            I’m getting used to being lopsided.  The right-side skin, still a bit sensitive, has faded from angry red to uneven tan.  Sometimes ice pick stabs attack that breast, a reminder of the nerve damage that often occurs with surgery.  The lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy scars have faded into thin lines, but sleeping on my right side still causes discomfort.

            Yesterday, despite taking a morning nap, an early afternoon nap, and a late afternoon nap, I slept well overnight.  (Well, except for my nightly 3 a.m. battle with the BIPAP mask.)  But the day before I took two walks, both several blocks longer than my usual.

            My back and arms, especially the right arm, seem to regard practicing my alto flute as weight lifting.  Yesterday, my back protested after changing my 20-month-old grandson’s diaper--the first diaper I have changed since last spring!  Admittedly, I am more committed to keeping up with flute practicing than diaper changing.

            When my post-cancer-treatment body weighs me down, there are a couple things that help me keep discomfort in perspective.  First, that my pre-cancer body wasn’t so whippy, either.  And, second, that I’m alive to tell the story.