I’m dizzy just thinking about what awaits me when I come home
Today is the day. I’ve waited for this for so long! Tryouts! The hallways are a mass of nervous eleventh graders, debating the options. To try out for drama, to skip the drama of being in drama. Song dance over acting choir? Dance, maybe? Sharp, graceful, jolly. Oh, the options are endless. Of course, we don’t get to choose, only state our preference. But there’s always wishful thinking.
And, boy, was I doing a lot of that these days — a whole awful lot. Not only about the possibility of being dance head, but about life in general. If only my life weren’t the way it is, a whirlwind of tasks. It’s a balancing act, juggling so much at once. And if I drop one, Heaven help me! My life is sort of like a horse, and I have to grab on to the horse’s mane and gallop along. If I let go, I’m done.
I’m dizzy just thinking about what awaits me when I come home. Thursday equals chemo day. I might find a mother buried under her covers, eagerly awaiting my arrival. I might find disgruntled children in dire need of someone to oversee homework and dinner. And bath time. And the list goes on and on.
You may not have full understanding of what my life is like, even if you’ve lived with a family member with cancer. You see, every patient is different. Not all patients have to stay in the hospital after treatments. That’s called outpatient. They can leave a mere few minutes after chemotherapy. On the other hand, usually when the case is more severe, there’s inpatient, which means that the patient is confined to a hospital for a certain amount of time. That’s when the chemo is much stronger, and the patient is too weak to venture out.
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