Before I even begin, let me say that Heather has it right...it's a gift to be here. Not to mention my own personal peccadilloes can't begin to match the sufferings of my Savior. I can't argue with that kind of perspective.

Still, indulge me.

Even eight months post treatment, cancer treatment is the gift that keeps on giving. A few examples from this week:

No stamina--I was on "no lifting" last week due to port removal (hooray) but that equated to no vacuuming and no heavy cleaning. While my family is pretty terrific about keeping the place picked up, there was some pretty nasty stuff to clean up (especially since we made both latkes and homemade marshmallows Sunday--eek!). It took me all day to catch up Monday, a job that might have taken four hours before treatment(okay, I have a bigger house now) and I'm so stinking deconditioned that I was sore this morning. Boo. Hiss. I also find that the five o'clock "arsenic hour" is tougher to deal with than ever.

No memory--My sweet neighbor had a flat yesterday and needed me to pick up her children from school. Thank goodness she handed me the kid's car pick up cards--because I couldn't remember her name to save my life. It took me the rest of the day to pull it out of the recesses of my brain...and this is someone who babysits my youngest child. I also forgot that I told my dad (visiting from NY this weekend) that we'd have an all family gathering this Sunday, and also gave my older kids permission to go to Universal with friends (so who gets disappointed by my stupidity?) Needless to say, every Sunday is an exercise in frustration as well as I grope for names of people who have introduced themselves multiple times.

On the positive side, when I went to wrap some gifts today, I uncovered a few things I had tucked away months ago...less to finish shopping for.

I think the worst thing is when my deficiencies collide. I feel so much better than I did during active treatment, therefore I forget that I have a hard time keeping up with BC Heather's schedule and expectations and bite off way more than I can chew. Then I scramble to keep up and fall on my face.

You think a year like the last year would have taught me not to operate in my own strength. Either I'm a slow learner...or the chemo brain and post-cancer fatigue is striking again.