One upon a time I was able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. I could run. I could lift. I could take on an Elliptical trainer like nobody's business. I sailed. The real kind of sailing that is a sport where you are pulling lines and maneuvering all over the boat. I was especially proud of my arms. I was strong but they looked slender.
Sure there were days when I would be lazy and I knew it had been awhile since I hit the gym and I would see a girl jogging and feel guilty.
This has all changed.
I am not allowed to use my arms anymore they tell me. If I do it will go on my permanent record or something. I have been told I cannot even mow my own lawn. Imagine! Of course I didn't follow that rule and wound up with a ruptured tissue expander and my punishment was a helpful visit from my dad. The morning of my surgery to replace said ruptured expander, my dad came down to "mow" my lawn. He really didn't want me to have to cut my lawn again. So he cut it short. Really short. By the time we came back home, Tiger Woods was practicing his short game in the back yard. When he cut my lawn on August 27th so I wouldn't have to cut it, I didn't realize he meant I wouldn't have to cut it- ever again.
Next year I will start from scratch. I am hopeful that the rules I am living under will be lifted by then. I cannot be trusted to follow rules. So they better be.
But my forced idleness has made me feel like I am supposed to be sick. I know that being in chemo I am supposed TO BE SICK. But I will be damned if I am going to act like it. However, when they start imposing house arrest on top of it, I get a bit cranky. And I think I should confess something to you all right now. I should get it off my chest for once and for all.
You know those girls who I mentioned jogging by who made me feel guilty I hadn't hit the gym? They aren't disciplined athletes to me anymore. They have become my nemesis. Their perky shiny ponytails bobbing from under their baseball caps and their slender but strong arms keeping pace with their relentless running fills me with disdain. The nerve. Running on the streets like that! Don't they know there are bald people under house arrest with brownfields for front lawns? Have they no shame? What crust!
Yes, I plan on speaking to someone about this. I know. This isn't healthy. But heavens to Betsy! Flash your perfect health someplace else, will ya? There are people trying to finish chemo here... trying to get their eyelashes to grow back... trying to remember what it is like to be perky!
I need someone to share my grief with. So tomorrow at 9 AM I am taking Mr. Fluffy in for a shave. I have had just about enough of him flaunting his fluffy 'do in my face too.
When even your front lawn is bald, you have to do something.