Of all the things I've lost...

[rhondalea]

...I miss my mind the most. (Thank you, Mark Twain.)

I have moments of energy and clarity, but they usually don't coincide, so even though I might be able to think, nothing gets done anyway.

It's not entirely the cancer/chemo/radiation--my thyroid has made a big contribution since it decided to go out of whack again around the time I started radiation--but I'll blame them anyway.

Online, I have moments of posting frenzy, followed by stretches when I'm not even sure what I read five minutes ago. I started a thread here awhile ago, but I haven't gotten back to it to acknowledge all the replies. I figured I would manage it eventually, but now there's one I can never respond to because Trish has already left us, so I can't bear to call up the thread again. It grieves me that even in the last weeks of her life, she took the time to welcome me here, and I never replied.

In real life, the cats get fed, the litter gets changed and the cancer cat gets to his chemo appointments, but everything else is haphazard.

This morning, I set up the coffeemaker (brand new--it's called The Scoop, and I love it), but then I turned it on and walked away before putting a cup underneath the drip funnel.

Tomorrow is my last day of radiation, and I'm barely burnt (thank you calendula), but I start Tamoxifen in three weeks, so I'm thinking things are not going to get much better.

I find being flat to be quite convenient, I've had minimal physical side effects, my LVEF is steady, and my hair is growing back better than before. I should be joyful--and I kinda am, except for the steroid/thyroid-induced 10 pound weight gain--but if my brain doesn't start working right soon, we're going to be overrun by my "To Do" list (which would be ten reams high if I kept it on paper).

I know this post doesn't seem to have a point, but it's part apology to all of you to whom I've written posts in my head for not actually posting the words and part plea for the reassurance that eventually my brain will start to function halfway normally again.

There's more, but I can hear the cancer cat wailing for food, and since he, unlike me, has lost quite a lot of weight, I am compelled to run and feed him.