Waking up at 4:30 am does not come easy to many people, but waking up at 4:30 to run a half marathon or marathon feels purposeful. I know most people think this is something only deranged people would subject themselves to, but for me, the road race provides more meaning than getting up to crawl into a machine that peers into my brain. These were my thoughts Tuesday morning as I willed myself out of bed. Philosophically, I should look at the endurance race and brain tumor treatment as Gemini twins - the endurance race reminds me of the many miles and how much time it took to get there. The treatment plan and recovery is a marathon, not a sprint.

But, this, this is only partially true. I'm settling into the reality that it will be chemo for life. The prospect is exhausting. I am exhausted. Eventually, in theory, I should tolerate the chemo better... but for now, I have to sleep when my body demands it. (This, according to my Yale oncologist... who endured med school and understands how much one can accomplish while not sleeping much. Part of me wants him to rally behind me and exclaim, "yeah- not sleeping a lot is the best, you can be so productive!" Instead, he reminds me sleep is good... and necessary.)

My Tuesday appointment at Yale was also not as effusive as last month, and while the tumor is stable, the Flair is enhanced, so I am reserving happiness for later. For now, I am able to continue with the plan of MRIs every other month for two rounds before transitioning to every three months. (Things may change once Dr. Blakeley at Johns Hopkins reviews.)

I feel outraged that I am so tired and that I need so much sleep with naps peppered in. It wasn't too long ago where I was working over 50 hours a week and training for the L.A. Marathon... and then working 40 and competing in ballroom dance. I don't like that my life has been upended more than what the pandemic has done. I want to be happy, but I'm, quite frankly, mad.