I'm too tired

Today's post is going to be a compilation of excerpts from other pieces I've written. The first is from an email I sent to my friend Jen in Texas.

When I was growing up I spent quite a few summers at a camp in Pennsylvania called Rock Hill. At the center of the camp was a peaceful and placid body of water known as Lake Ruskin. The lake sat in a valley, the bottom of a bowl comprised of coniferous trees, local vegetation and indigenous fauna. One of my favorite pastimes was to climb the waterfront watch tower, while the lake was vacant, and simply watch the tree lined shores hug the water. When the conditions were right; early morning hours, ambient and water temperatures at precise competing degrees, and the barometer hanging at a specific point, a wonderful fog would be created. The thin veil would begin at the top of the tree line and then slowly creep over the edge of the bowl and slide down towards the lake from every direction. With the sun beginning to rise over the horizon, the fog would dissipate the light and offer up shadows dancing among the forest, heading toward the water. Gradually, even purposefully, the fog would skulk from the shores and eventually meet itself so that it totally cloaked the lake. The sun would climb higher, and with every inch of its ascension, it would burn a little more fog from its play upon the lake, until, as quickly as it appeared, it evaporated into the air to nap again until the next time.

I had my chemo treatment today. While this is a wonderful memory from my youth, it is also an accurate description of how the poison meant to kill my cancer is affecting me. I donÂ’t feel horrible right now, but with every hour that goes by today, I can see the sickness coming. My mind is beginning to muddle. Even as I write this, I struggle with spelling and grammar. I still have an appetite, but I know that will disappear and I wonÂ’t eat for a few days. I donÂ’t feel tired right now, but I know that when I lay myself down tonight, my body wonÂ’t rise again for at least 16 hours. I donÂ’t have a lot of pain, but I know tomorrow when I eventually wake up I will have a lot of trouble walking.

The next section is from a posting I wrote for The Colon Club. A young woman was just diagnosed and she was looking for support and asked "Why do you fight?" This was my response.

Two years ago, at 35, I was dx with stage IV colon cancer. IÂ’ve been through the ringer since then, as have many of the people offering you support here at the Colon Club. Currently I am going through my second round of chemo. In those two years I have found many reasons to quit; the nausea, the stomach problems, the pain of surgery, the emotional darkness and sadness. Here is why I do it:
In the last two years;
One day I laughed my ass off as I watched my three year old godson smack himself in the head with a tetherball for 10 minutes.
One day I had the strength to take the top down on my Jeep and drive in the sun.
One day I hung out with old friends and got so drunk I fell on my ass.
One day I flirted with and kissed passionately a wonderful woman.
One day my sister got married.
One day my father actually brought the things I asked him for to my hospital room.
One day I lost a bundle in Atlantic City.
One day I played hide and seek with my friend's two year old daughter.
I fight for one day.