To Bear Witness

I think I slept through Thursday to Saturday—and I honestly don’t remember Monday through Wednesday. Each day feels like a week of its own, disconnected from the one before. I used to manage to fight the urge to sleep, to push through, but now it just takes me. No warning. No negotiating.

Each week, I feel more like a toy with a battery winding down.

Sometimes I’m sitting with friends, but I’m not really there. Everything around me is hazy, like I’m watching a movie I’m not in. I know I haven’t been the best company lately. I can’t carry conversations like I used to. All I have some days are blank stares and yawns.

Colleen took me to lunch recently—she’s always kind—but I know I was dull company. She ran a few errands after, and I passed out in her car for at least 30 minutes. Honestly, she could’ve driven me home, parked in her garage, and I’d have kept right on sleeping.

---

Toxic Zombie Mode

There’s still so much to be done around the house before June—just everyday things. Normal struggles. Dishes, laundry, the kind of upkeep you never realize you take for granted until your body stops cooperating.

I know this is a side effect of the medications. I’ve read the fine print. I’ve felt it in waves. But still—moving through your life like a toxic zombie is a hard thing to normalize.

If you read the sheets that come with each prescription, they all list the same vague horrors:

• Neuropathy (yep, hands and feet tingling)
• Dizziness
• Drowsiness
• Memory issues
• Shaking and tremors
• Muscle weakness
• Irritability
• Confusion

---

Another Pill, Another Side Effect

To make things more fun, I was also prescribed a heavy-duty antibiotic for an eye infection. Because why not throw that on top of everything else?

I’m eating right. I drink enough water. But I haven’t worked out in weeks. That used to be a release for me—now it feels out of reach. I take 20 pills a day—half in the morning, half at night. It’s a strange routine that gives structure to a body I barely recognize.

I usually wake up feeling somewhat okay. I’ll have my coffee, eat something small… and then I take the pills. Within an hour, I could crawl right back into bed. And most days, I do. I lie there, aware of everything that needs to be done—fully aware—but unable to move.

If no one calls, if no one knocks, if there’s no outside force pulling me up… I might stay there for hours.

---

This Is Not Like Me

That’s the part that’s hardest to reconcile: This is not like me. I used to be full of energy. I’ve always been someone who pushed through, who stayed in motion, who got things done.

Now, I feel like I’m watching that version of myself from a distance—hazy, just like everything else.

Riding the Chemo Rollercoaster: From Zombie Mode to Crack Mode

I swear, I may have to hire someone just to come drag my butt out of bed every morning. Maybe if I start moving early, it wouldn’t be so hard. I could then push through the rest of the day. Right now, I feel like a bum.

I need a project.
I need a job.
I miss working.
I miss that feeling that my presence matters. That whether I show up or not makes a difference in someone else’s world.

Thursdays through Sundays are the zombie days. Fatigue like a fog. But Mondays through Wednesdays? That’s a whole different beast.

---

Chemo Brain on Overdrive

Those are my “steroid days.” I wake up, eat something small, take my meds, have a cup of coffee… and then it hits.

My hands shake.
My blood pressure spikes.
I start talking like an auctioneer.
My focus is everywhere—and nowhere.

It’s like ADHD on steroids.
Literally.

I’m suddenly very enthusiastic about everything. Every drawer, every shelf, every corner of the house screams for attention. I start five projects at once. But by the end of the day? It’s as if a hurricane blew through. There’s no evidence that anything got finished. Nothing looks clean. Everything looks half-done.

---

Productivity, Please Find Me

I wish I could channel this energy into something meaningful—an art project, a mural, a full-house deep clean. But the reality is I bounce from one unfinished task to the next like a caffeinated squirrel on roller skates.

And forget about sleep. During those three days, sleep becomes optional—if I remember to take something that helps me shut down. Otherwise, I ride the wave all night, exhausted but wired, and wake up even more frayed.

---

A Plan Might Help

What I need—desperately—is a plan. A game plan I can stick to. A list for the week. The kind of list you tape to your fridge in bold marker.

Because right now? I feel like I’m spinning in place. High-speed chaos on one end… full stop on the other.

And somewhere in between, there’s still me, trying to matter in my own life.