Meet Stan

So, I've decided to give the enormous fatigue that has descended on me since my surgeries a name.

Readers, meet Stan.

Stan is a big guy--I'm guessing 300 pounds or so --but agile. He likes to jump on my shoulders when I'm standing in line or in the kitchen and I can feel the immense pressure, making it hard for me to lift my feet and get to a chair or a bed. Picture him like Stanley Kowalski, constantly yelling, "Barbarrrrraaa!! BARBARRRRAAAAA!" at me when I'm trying to get something--ANYTHING --done.

I have kind of a love/hate thing with Stan.

Because, while he's a figment of my imagination, the fatigue is real and so palpable that it can't be ignored. Rest is an integral part of recovery, and I am so, so, SO bad at it.

The thing is, I've been warned that it's likely to get worse during the radiation, so I'm hoping to rest up so that I can trade Stan in for a kinder, gentler version. (Maybe a Flat Stan --hah.) (Oh, you know you laughed/groaned.) (You did, right?)

I've been thinking about dropping my classes this semester. I knew I was going to miss the first two weeks, but one of my classes is mostly on-line and the other is taught by a professor I've had three times who knows my work ethic and knows I can catch up. Unfortunately, on Thursday, for class three, I drove to campus during rush hour traffic and by the time I got there, I was in so much pain and so miserable that I just burst into tears and came home again.

To be fair, I'd had to have an entire seam of stitches resewn at the doctor's office on Tuesday because it wasn't healing well and the seatbelt is an instrument of torture on fresh breast stitches*, but also, I was feeling every little bump in the road. Plus the original stitches --at least a hundred of them--are dissolving and falling out and leaving this very new, tender skin behind that stings like crazy when I sweat and it's June in Austin. Wow, I was so miserable. It was just too soon.

Next week I have two papers due and I MUST finish this small freelance project I am overdue on. But Stan is looking at me with bedroom eyes...and I just don't know.

I'm so tired.

*Try saying that five times fast.