Epiphany

I met another ersatz version of The Pill, today.  I guess that's some measure of how far up the food chain he is:  he has minions.  It's hard to believe it's been almost three years since my first date with The Pill.  Time flies when you're on hormone therapy, or something.

While I was waiting for my audience, one of the research fellows came in and asked if I'd participate in a couple of surveys.  One was about how frequently I take my meds, and the other about post-treatment fatigue.  Naturally, being a good patient, I said yes.  I take my meds 100% of the time:  who knew there was another option?  As it turns out, most people -- yes, I said MOST -- don't take their medications as prescribed by their physicians.  Even when it's cancer.  Amazing.

I polished that one off before the oncologist du jour came in.  After my strip search -- warm hands, gentle touch, all we needed was a little Anita Baker and a glass of wine -- I sat down to the second survey.  Halfway through, it was like someone punched me in the gut.  Do you have difficulty getting projects started?  Do you have difficulty finishing household chores?  Do you feel you have less energy than you used to?  Do you want to be alone more than usual?  Do you wake up tired?  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes!  OMG, I'm fatigued.

I thought I was long past fatigue.  I thought I'd gotten that monkey off my back years ago.  But, apparently not.  I started to cry about the time I read the third question.  So THAT'S what's wrong with me.  I thought I was lazy.  Or depressed.  Or middle-aged.  Well, alright, I'm all of those things...  but, I'm fatigued, too.  What a relief.