I had an appointment on Friday for immunotherapy as well as a third iron infusion, even though I had received 2 subsequent infusions over the last 6 weeks my hemoglobin count has incrementally gone down, mildly concerning as there is no solid reason why this is. I feel relatively okay with a side of evening low grade fevers (an immunotherapy side effect) and a general feeling of malaise. I can do things here or there between laying down on the couch but my recovery is a tad slow, I am not unfamiliar with this feeling but it is not my favorite. Feeling this way taps into ingrained shame and insecurities about myself, I have gotten better at not being so self abusive but I am in no way perfect at this and when I feel mildly crappy the habit to berate myself can get triggered… “Why am I such a weak bitch?” Or “What’s wrong with me? Why am I so lazy?” Questions that I will ask out loud to myself or my husband, to which he has asked “What would you say to your massage clients?” Of course I would encourage others to be easy on themselves, let them know that it is okay to rest, tell them not to judge themselves so harshly but that I was different in some way, not worthy of such a kindness apparently 😳 Oh the codependent tendencies in me run deep, ha! The self work is never done, I am gonna have to start Stuart Smalley-ing myself again, get out the hand mirror and break out some positive affirmations as cheesy as that sounds, I have allowed myself to sink into a mild funk again, time to start shifting that.
When I was first diagnosed and approved for disability that would start to be paid out 6 months from that date due to metastasis of cancer to both lobes of my liver, I really thought I wouldn’t need it by then, I was going to be better, most likely healed but it would be nice to have it just in case. Imagine my disappointment close to 3 years later that I am still dealing with this disease, though I am grateful to be alive and to have the disability payments, I long to have my body back in a way where shit isn’t so oozy and complicated. Still actively being sick taps into my deep seated feeling of being a failure, it makes me wonder what I have done wrong. I know I am not alone in feeling this way, just as I know that it’s not helpful to wallow in a mire of self hate and pity but I believe it is better to acknowledge and feel these things rather than repress and deny. To be able to recognize where work still needs to be done is a part of the medicine even if it’s not so pleasant.
I do know that I like myself more than I used to, even when I am at my lowest. Progress is progress even if it’s hard to recognize when one is busy feeling a skosh sorry for themselves (guilty as charged). I plan on digging myself out of this hole once again, though it might take a minute.
Until next time ❤️