cup of reality, please.

Sometimes it’s not hearts and rainbows. Sometimes the sun’s rays don’t fix what’s broken. Sometimes life hands you a rotten lemon. Or in my case, slaps you with the ugly reality of taking a chemo pill and having cancer.

Previous posts have suggested I make the most of life. I do. Sometimes I do this too much. In fact, I forget my reality. I forget the steps I’m supposed to be taking for my health, my body, and my future.

This past weekend I ventured to the Lake with my girlfriends from high school. We had a weekend planned of sunning ourselves, talking gossip, and to stuff our faces with any sort of cheese dip. Friday night started as most girls nights; the five of us sitting on the screen porch, sipping vodka bootlegs, listening to trashy pop, and chit-chatting. The dusk drifted to sleep and we were sitting by a glow of a candle late into the night. It was spectacular 🙂 As the chit-chatting unfolded, I allowed myself some drinks. I had between three and four vodka bootlegs from three in the afternoon through midnight that night. I loved feeling my cheeks grow warm and hear my laugh get a bit too loud. My face was sore from smiling and my stomach hurt from giggling. It was my kind of night; my best friends, a slight buzz, and in bed at a decent hour 🙂

It was my kind of night, until the morning.

Long story short, the rest of the weekend my body was rejecting the alcohol I had been sipping. I did not get drunk, nor did I throw up, I got all the other magical affects of a liquid or food running through your system a little too quickly, (I’ll spare you all the lovely details). I spent my Saturday at bar bingo running for the bathroom, I spent my Sunday doing the same, followed by my first day of school on Monday, my second day of school on Tuesday, and my third day of school, today. I have lost my appetite, I’m exhausted, and not comfortable.

I’m told Gleevec, my chemo, does not mix with alcohol well, as well as most chemos. But once and a while I get lost in the moment, want to be included, and don’t want to hear, “why aren’t you drinking?” I want to act stupid with my girlfriends, dance like an idiot, and try to keep up with everybody else.

But here I am, on Wednesday, weak, tired, and venting.

My cup of reality: I am not like my friends, my husband, or the old Kaylee. I cannot kick it old school very well, and need to get to bed at a decent hour so I don’t get sick. I cannot chug a beer, (I don’t think I’ve ever done this anyway), fist pump drunkenly listening to music at a bar, or have a ‘Sunday Funday.’

I can drink an ice water, mix a green drink, or slam a plate of leafy greens. I can wake up in the morning with energy, go on a run with ace, and tackle a home project. I can sober cab a group of my friends, force secrets out, (just kidding), and laugh at the conversations in the back seat.

I just hope that’s enough for my friends, my husband, and for me.