This round hasn't been too bad.
Yes, I've been tired. Still am. Too weak to sing in the shower (I tried and almost passed out: not enough puff).
But the bone pains were bearable and lasted just a couple of days (I'm not counting general weariness and stiffnes: that's just my new state of being). And tiredness, well, you learn to live with it. At least I am able to sit up and do stuff on the computer, read books, watch backdated episodes of Escape To The Country. It's only when I try to get active that I realise I am a shadow of my former self.
Without other debilitating side effects, this chemo cycle has been much more manageable. The thought of "only one more" is rather cheery.
I am now building things up again.
The first hint of recovery is when you find me sitting at the kitchen table, orchestrating cups of tea as the children trickle in from school. The second hint involves stirring pots on the stove. I've done both for several days now.
Four days ago, I had to abort my walk around the block, as I found myself unable to breathe properly. By yesterday, I had built it up to a half hour stroll. Today I did an hour, although judging by the subsequent length of time on the sofa and the muscle aches, that might have been over-ambitious. I'm not quite training for the London Marathon, but it certainly feels like it.
For now, it's another stint on the sofa. No stirring of pots tonight: there will be instructions to teenagers about leftovers and the microwave, and call me when it's ready.
Life could be (and has been) worse. As long as I don't let Frustration through the door, let alone Ambition, I'll be alright.