Every time I do this. Every time I have a chemo treatment I reach the Friday and think 'Oh, this isn't so bad'. Only to have it bite me in the arse again.
All weekend I have been unable to leave the house, my body feels weighted down with lead and my head feels full of fuzz. I can't think straight, I can't walk straight, I've been in a stupor for two days straight. My stomach is slightly sensitive but that seems to be the least of my worries. R has been out at work both days so I spend my days doing, I don't know what. I actually cannot remember how I've spent some of my time. I know I've blogged, and watched TV, and knitted, and eaten a few things. But I'm not sure in what order.
Last night R came home to find me in bed re-reading a paragraph of a new book again and again, with the oven going full blast in the kitchen.
Today I was planning to drive up to North London to visit a friend who recently had a baby. A bit of an excursion. Except at the last minute I cancelled. It's weird to say this but I don't trust myself at the moment. I can't seem to control my limbs on a walk to the kitchen, so god knows what damage I could do driving round the North Circular.
I think the Lorezepam is the only drug with a 'do not operate heavy machinery' warning on it, but I suspect the cocktail of everything else has combined to make me more of a liability than any of them individually. And I'm meant to be back in work tomorrow. I'm wondering whether it's a good idea. Raincheck in the morning... until then, pad the walls and make me wear a crash helmet. I'm a danger unto myself.