HELL WEEK

 

I've been told there's a wall that everyone hits.
Some crash into it in week three, others much later—but few escape it entirely.

For me, that wall came on what was supposed to be a day of celebration:
My last day of radiation.
The final treatment.
I had imagined joy. Relief. Maybe even a breath of freedom.

Instead, it marked the beginning of the bleeding.
Heavy bleeding.
Every cough, every sneeze, even a simple spit—blood.

My throat felt like it was on fire. Even water—just water—was too much.
One bottle would last me two days, each sip a painful, drawn-out battle.

I couldn’t bring myself to update the blog.
Not because I didn’t want to share—but because all I had in me was darkness.
And yet, even in that darkness, I knew it would get better.
I just didn’t know when.

My spirit was worn thin, my body weaker by the day.
No food, no calories, just survival.
Each moment was a quiet endurance.

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The past few days have brought about little victories.

I have finished a bottle of water the same day I opened it. 
I have finished a pudding cups on a couple occassions now. 
Mentally I have escaped the funk a bit.

I know I've got this.  I just hope this prior week was the worst I have to go through as it was truly trying both physically and mentally.