Well, the chemo is done.  My hair is starting to grow.  (I look a bit like a baby duckling right now.)  Ostensibly, the recovery is beginning.  I have started physiotherapy; I made it to the gym once last week; and I bought groceries all by myself for the first time in months.

At this point, I am still very weak, and activity of any kind quickly exhausts me.  I need extraordinarily much sleep — maybe even more than when the lupus is flaring.   There are so many things I want to do.  I feel like I have let things fall apart while I was doing chemo (not that I had any choice in the matter.)  It’s frustrating that my body won’t cooperate.  Obviously, I need to practice patience.  Why is it so much easier to be patient with other people than with ourselves?

It’s odd to finally have time for feelings.  I am feeling a bit lost.  I can’t quite imagine what my life is going to look like from now on.  First, I don’t know how much strength and stamina I’m going to re-gain, or how long it’s going to take to re-gain it.  I doubt that I’m going to make it back to teaching, so I don’t know what my contributions to the world are going to be from now on.  I keep hearing the lines from that song in A Chorus Line, “Who am I anyway?  Am I my resumé?  That is a picture of a person I don’t know.”

The only thing that’s clear to me right now is that I am surrounded by the most amazing people on the planet.  I know that whatever happens, you will support me — not because of who I am, but because of who you are.  You have demonstrated your true character and personalities throughout these long months.  You are intelligent, kind, caring and generous to a fault.  I may have multiple, trying health issues, but I still feel like one of the luckiest people alive — because of you.  I will never be able to thank you enough for your presence in my life and for all that you do to make me happy.  I don’t know what the next months will hold, but I know that you will be there, so all will be well.