It's hard to believe that it has already been a month since my last post. It has been a pretty good month, though, so at least my silence is not because things are bad.
My boyfriend has his fourth chemo treatment tomorrow. Each one has brought new challenges, but we have worked our way through them and things are mostly manageable. Not easy for him, but no more trips to the ER or urgent calls to the doctor. He even made it into work every day last week for two hours a day, which is the first time since March that he has gone in every day for a full week. His demeanor has changed, he is awake and alert more often, and his appetite is pretty good for being on chemo, so we are hopeful that he it is working and that he is getting better. He will have a CT Scan after his sixth chemo treatment to check the size of the lymphomas, but we anticipate good news.
I, on the other hand, have been having trouble sleeping. I have also been struggling with my eating and have had no exercise. I am trying not to beat myself up about it, but it makes me feel very down about myself. I feel like I cannot do anything well at this point, and know that I need to start with baby steps again, but it is hard not to go the dramatic changes route. Next week my goal is to stick within my points and to exercise three times for at least 20 minutes each session. Whatever it is... running, walking on the treadmill, swimming, Wii... anything that adds extra activity to my current life.
This is also the first year that I am estranged from my father for Father's Day. He also has a birthday coming this week. And, although the concept is disturbing to me, I guess he has been such a small part of my life for the past 10+ years that I cannot say that it feels much different than one fewer phone call today. That's pretty sad. My BF has been tossing around the idea of children lately since he has not had any up to this point in his life, and it made me think about my own father and his lack of parenting other than discipline and financial support in my childhood and teenage years. I can tell the stories of when he gave me a black eye in 8th grade for going to the Y across from school at lunchtime (not allowed to leave campus) or when he tried to kill me with his shotgun after getting a call from hotel security to pick me up from a teenage party when I was 16, but I guess I only remember the extremes because my mother has always been the involved parent in my life. I miss the concept of having a caring father, and I am sad that my daughter does not have a grandfather (and that he could ditch that relationship so easily), but other than that I do not miss the people that he has surrounded himself with for the past 15 years.
It's bedtime for me now (oh sleep, please be my companion tonight!). Hopefully the next month will bring even better news.