Better Bucket
So, they say that your body establishes a rhythm during chemotherapy. During chemo, the good people at the hospital make sure they fill your IV bags with the good stuff—potent anti-nausea, antianxiety meds. They make sure you are hydrated, comfortable and peaceful. The effects last for a couple of days. My first day after “red devil” was ok—even my second.
Days three and four were the bucket days.
Three constant companions—headache, drowsiness, nausea. One minute I am freezing, the next I am sweating. I have a bucket near my bed to help; I grab it on the way to the bathroom.
Two days. 48 hours. One goal: get past the nausea and get back on the trail.
On day four, one friend texts: “How are you?”
I send her a picture of my bucket, a small, plastic garbage can--simple, boring, faithful.
“Seems to me you need a better bucket,” she says. “What is your favorite color right now?”
I answer, “I don’t know,” i answer. “Blue, maybe green.”
“Great, girl. A better bucket is on the way.”
Without saying it, she reminds me every moment is a gift of God.
People who hold space filled with beauty and--forgive me--barf are holy friends.
Thank you, dear ones.
“Everything is a gift. The degree to which we are awake to this truth is a measure of our gratefulness, and gratefulness is a measure of our aliveness.”