Justin started another round of chemo yesterday at clinic. Today he is feeling sick and listless. I am too. I pushed too hard yesterday and am paying for it now. Denial can be a powerful thing. I sometimes think I am able to exercise much harder than my body will allow. I decide that neuromuscular disease can be defeated all at once in my living room with P90X and a little perseverance.
Along with the new round of steroids come Justin’s food cravings. Spaghetti and meatballs is a big one. So it was meatballs on my stove at nine o’clock last night and a jar of spaghetti sauce broken and spilled all over the floor. Note to self: don’t do the hit-the-lid-with-a-butter-knife-trick when you’re tired and frustrated.
A shard of glass pierced my finger as I cleaned the floor and tried to answer yes or no at the appropriate times as Justin rambled through naming foods he would like to buy at Shoprite. I told him to just make a list, already, but then spelling “Cinnamon toast crunch” was a problem.
My finger hurt but shocked some sense back into me. I took a deep breath, sat down and helped Justin make a shopping list.
This is me having sense: The kitchen will eventually be clean again. I will never be as physically strong as I’d like to be and that is okay. Being at the clinic stresses me out, but there are twenty-seven days between now and when we have to do it again.
The rest of this story was me a little derailed. And we won’t even discuss the beautiful grilled chicken I made for dinner but started thinking about it being animal flesh while chewing and immediately had to wash the taste out of my mouth with a Kit Kat bar. Okay maybe two. Kit Kat bars.
And the simple truth is, Jesus loves me through it all. That’s what really gets me off the floor. Grace be with you, my friends.
I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me. Proverbs 8:17