I'm in the car with Joe and Natalia heading to Joe's mother's apartment in Riverside. It's her birthday. I'm surprised he asked us to go. I bought her a book, bookmarks, cards and a scrumptious pumpkin spice bundt cake from "Everything bundt Cake" in Valencia. I jumped at the mini road trip.
My mood has continued on its steady decline. I'm crying and isolating more. I hate looking at myself in the mirror. My nails (what's left of them) are atrocious. I didn't jog for two days because I injured my foot; I dropped the solid oak table on it this past Friday. I was feeling good after my run; my pace was faster and breathing easier. I cleaned the kitchen and decided to swap two heavy tables- that didn't go so well. The pain was so intense that I couldn't breathe! Then, I started crying at the thought of telling Joe that I broke his table (I heard a 'crack'). I wasn't worried he would be angry but that he would give me the usual head shake and some comment meant to make me feel small, stupid, and useless. He was reluctant to look at my foot when I asked him to help me determine if it was broken. He was not interested and, in fact, was annoyed. When I started crying and apologized about the table (it wasn't broken) he told me he's used to me breaking things-without looking up from his computer. I can't try any more. I'm so exhausted from trying to communicate and drained from trying to always be upbeat and not talk about cancer and treatment. I give up.
I made an appointment for UCLA OB/GYN so we can start tracking my uterus for the duration of tamoxefin. I have to tell them how wreck less I've been, too. I haven't said anything to anybody about my wreck less behaviors except my journal. It's time to tell a doctor and go from there. That scares me a little bit.
I'll work 2 days this week- hallelujah!
That's me in uniform. Happy veteran's day.
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