Written February 5, 2026

It has been three whole weeks since chemo 2 and I don’t actually know where those weeks went except that I thought I was weathering this chemotherapy thing well (I am, and..) but after this round I have been TIRED, and I got sick (finally, I have avoided it for MONTHS, and it finally caught me) and now it’s the day before my next treatment and I can feel the resistance as tiny seed somewhere in my chest.

I’ve cried less in the last three weeks than I have in the last two months, which worries me. For years (at least a decade) I’ve thought I needed to cry more, get some stuff out, rinse the heart kind of thing. From September to December, I cried more and easily, and it felt good and healthy. These last three weeks I’ve leaked a few tears here and there, but mostly I’ve been sleeping and irritable. I think I’m fighting the grief? Nah, I’m fighting the grief. It’s a declarative statement.

I’m not so exhausted that I don’t care anymore. On the contrary— I still care so much I get terribly triggered about what’s happening in our country (like in Minneapolis). I want to do something about it— I want to go there and help drive around honking, deliver food, and protect people from this insanity. If it were occurring here in Puget Sound (it probably is and I don’t hear about it? Not reading the right news?) I’d be doing SOMETHING. 

That said, I’m so tired I can barely do three things in a day. I can usually feed myself, and I try to get the prescribed amount of exercise in (I get more than prescribed, usually), and then I have to pick like one thing to do. Laundry. Or water my plants, or clean the bathrooms, or go to the grocery store. But that’s it. My battery runs out faster than a 5 year old iPhone in 0-degree temperatures. The exhaustion is borderline painful. I get really frustrated with it because I feel like life is moving on without me, and I should be doing something, doing more, and my mind starts telling me stories about all the other people with cancer who are doing miraculous herculean feats of working full time or volunteering at the homeless shelter or training for the Tour de France, and I’m catatonic staring out the window. After only 2 chemotherapy treatments. And by the way, according to my oncology nurse, I’m “only having four treatments,” as if it’s not even “that bad” or “a thing” and forgive me if I’ve already emoted about that one to you, but that was an insult that I’m sure she didn’t mean in the way I took it (I’m not sure, actually), but I took offense to the “only” part. And her tone. 

Here’s the thing about the grief. I feel it internally. It’s lurking in there, and looking for a way out, and I should escort it. The way it shows up in my mind is first I get frustrated that I can’t do more than two things in a day. I’ve lost my energy and the ability to do things. I don’t even have the mental capacity to watch TV. I do read some, but I get tired and then sleep. And then I get sad that I look around at the hours the sun has been up, and all I have to show for it is mostly naps, a few meals, and a basket of laundry that got washed and dried, and made it all the way back to my bedroom in said basket before I gave up. The path of least resistance for my grief is through the loss of my energy, but I won’t let it out that way because my mind has concocted this whole schtick about how pathetic it is because I’m sad that I can’t do everything on my to do list? It’s a sign of my privilege that I’m frustrated and sad and grieving the loss of my ability to clean my house before I have to go back in for chemotherapy? There are people out there who HAVE TO KEEP WORKING FULL TIME AT JOBS THAT DON’T PAY ALL THEIR BILLS while also doing chemotherapy, and I’m sad because I can’t finish folding my laundry? Then I get on my case about how I probably can, I just don’t, and then the grief goes back into hiding because that suddenly doesn’t seem the easy way out.

Typing this out makes me realize that no matter what the pathway of grief— in this case, mourning the loss of my energy— maybe whatever pathway is least resistant is the one I should allow, rather than waiting for the “right” one or the more “appropriate” form? Maybe any pathway will do, because the other forms of grief might also sneak out with the “lesser” one? 

I’m not sure I need encouragement to get through the forms of chemo most people think of. I’m going to show up and take the cancer lysol and endure the nausea and intestinal distress and bizarre body pains like a champ. It’s the other, more subtle stuff that I fight tooth and nail. The tired. The slowing down. The resting. As if they are optional, and I should forgo them for more useful participation in life. I have decks and decks of inspirational cards gifted to me that encourage me to do all the things and tell me six ways of sunday how strong and capable I am and yada yada, but I think the most relevant piece of encouragement in this moment is a tongue-in-cheek postcard from my sister that says “Be nice to yourself, Asshole.”  Seems most appropriate these days.

The tired is wearing down my sunny disposition about all this cancer shenaniganery. It’s still there. I’m still feeling gratitude and love, which I’m so SO full hearted about. I’m trying really hard not to let the guilt or reluctance creep in, the stuff that tells me I don’t deserve all your efforts and tokens and cheering and attention and love. Those voices have found their way back to my daily existence, and I try to let them talk, but then also try to turn their volume down or focus my attention elsewhere. It’s a weird warp on worthiness, for sure. But the chemotherapy is threatening to put me in hibernation (literally), and I’m fighting it, and I probably shouldn’t. I don’t want to rest THIS much, but here I am. I’ve been hearing for years, NO DECADES, that maybe I should consider doing less? (scoff!) Doing less has arrived! I’m trying not to answer the door. Haven’t done all the things yet…

I’d apologize for this being a less encouraging dispatch than previous ones, but I’m not sorry. This is a full spectrum experience. I wouldn’t want to suggest otherwise.

Chemo-3 tomorrow. I don’t have any antics planned, I haven’t put my ice packs in the freezer, and I don’t know what snacks I’m gonna pack. And if none of that gets handled, it will all still be totally fine.

Olympics are starting! Super Bowl on Sunday! Yay sports! (I need that t-shirt). Go Hawks! I hope Lindsay Vonn is okay. What a story… may the odds be ever in her favor. How are you? I actually want to know.

Love from the desk,
Angie B.