Mrs. Potato Head

So I mentioned the guy in chemo who said my eyes were so beautiful he could lick them - and then added he must have been a dog in a former life. So sweet, so kind.

But the honest truth is most days I feel like Mrs. Potato Head - a shell with a jumbled mess of pieces that can be put in one of several holes, and someone besides the Mrs. gets to decide which limb goes where.

Take my make-up off and I'm a bald woman with no eyebrows (I'm no good at faking them either) and minimal eyelashes. I have a chest filled with scars and unnatural objects (port). I have an appetite and have been eating us out of our home, gaining 12 pounds in the past 2 months. I have bad chemo breath, a dry mouth, and a puffy face. My legs have little strength, my feet are cold or numb, my hands are swollen and waxy, and I have sore yellow fingernails. I have no energy for sex or a conversation about sex.

I wear comfy cozy clothes, a hat to bed, slippers, and I get dressed up for chemotherapy and hydration! I am certainly not some sexy 50 year old independent woman. And no patronizing - because -

I whine, complain, obsess over the future, try to not think about the future, have no tolerance for drama, and very little tolerance for even humor. My attention wains at about 5 minutes, and you can find me in bed most days. I haven't been more than 30 miles from home since Sept. 10, 2012.

Now doesn't that sound dandy! Certainly doesn't sound like the me of 5 months ago, and I'm still trying to figure the 2 women out - but that makes me anxious, then blood pressure goes up, and there I go again, whining, and that makes my face puffy and red!

Praying for spring and healthy grandchildren whom I can hug and play Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head with.