The Blob Blog

During the forty-eight hours subsequent to my first chemo therapy treatment I was a blob, a barely functioning, boneless mass of heavily medicated reactive tissue. Keeping track of thirteen medications, with much needed help from my ever concerned husband and the chemo home care nurses became my one and only priority. That and retaining fluid in my system took precedence. From some unknown source, energy within emerged to enable me to create a medication chart on the computer, though the exercise took several brief sessions interspersed with lengthy blob times. All required tools of the healing trade were then at the ready.

A couple of days later when a modicum of energy made itself manifest, I tried to read. Reading has always been a reliable resource for my particular state of well being. Reading did not work. The old head on top of the blob could not hack it. Feelings of oppression ensued.

Never give up. There is always a solution. In my case, with rain pattering in sympathy on the windows, I actually sat myself on the piano bench. Now I am no pianist, but seventy years ago my disciplined father insisted that his four children all learn to play the piano. That early learning led my fingers. A few notes raised my spirits. A few more raised my caring husband’s spirits as well. Just like riding a bicycle, I was able to draw simply on a relatively thoughtless primary skill in order to raise the mood of the day. Art therapy at its best.

Find your inner strengths. You have them. Allow your soul to sing that gray song. The colours of the rainbow just may peep through.

Cheers,
Nancy