Impatient Patient

Eleven days after my final chemo, and I'm growing impatient. I'm in the stage where I feel hungover or jet-lagged all the time, and it feels like I've been here for months. Which, in a way, I have. Although of course it's always just today. Just now. The battle is to just stay in the moment, and see that whatever thoughts I have about my condition are just thoughts, opinions. And to take every opportunity to get out of my head. Saint Bob S. is coming over at noon today to help me remove my storm windows, a task that needs to be accomplished by Monday, when the condo association's window washers will arrive. Afterward Kate and I are going to the movies, perhaps with Bob in tow, we'll see. As for the rest of the weekend, it will unfold as it will, and I will get better, albeit more slowly than I would like. I still haven't heard from the pulmonary rehab lady about alternatives to the program at Rehab Institute of Chicago. Next week I guess I will start to track some down myself. One good reminder is that, whatever I think of the cumulative side effects of chemotherapy and radiation, without this treatment I probably would be dead by now.