Fecked to fu@k
Updated: Aug 24, 2020
Hellooo!!! I know, it’s been a while … .
I’d been pondering what was stopping me from getting my writing on. I finally got the energy together to figure out it’s my old foe: fatigue.
I kept thinking I’d cracked it, but it ain’t so.
The ebbs and flows of hormone therapy over the last 7 months (Tamoxifen and a brief flirtation with the not-as-fun-as-it-sounds aromatase inhibitor, Aromasin), in addition to my DIEP recon surgery in May, has my fatigue fecked to fu@k.
I’d say it’s a rollercoaster but it’s not that dynamic. It’s more like the sighing undulations of the baby caterpillar ride.
My fatigue comes in waves. It sits on my chest and pushes the breathe out of me so that I huff-puff like a passively disgruntled Grandpa. For anyone’s who’s done serious (scripted) narc or opioid meds, it feels like the tipping point when they kick in and you smile aloud at the realisation.
If only it were that funny. Sometimes I cry with the exquisite exhaustion of it.
I wish I could stop the Tamoxifen Train and get off, but I’m a sucker for hope *mantras like a mofo*.
Before my DIEP, 10 months into my first stretch on Tamoxifen, I had definitely nailed the fatigue. And I’m not just relying on my oft-befuddled meno-chemo brain for that intel: the Hubster agrees. I’m not saying he’s always right (cos I do try to be honest in my posts), but we’ll give him this one.
So I’ll keep on chugging on.
Normal service will (hopefully) resume shortly.