Walking a Cat on a Leash...

Chemo Brain is like that.

And Matthew Mewhorter captures it perfectly in his recent post "Under a Spell."

It's a joy to share Matt's beautifully unique way of art journaling his cancer journey...and bringing his cheeky brand of humor into the cancer fray...

 

Have you ever tried to walk a cat on a leash?

If so, you might be able to understand what it's like to have "chemo-brain".

Chemo-brain has got to sound like such a wishy-washy excuse for disorganization, procrastination or chronic forgetfulness. Before being diagnosed with cancer and having chemotherapy treatment, I would normally excuse an absent-minded mistake as a "blonde moment" because -hardy har- I'm a platinum blonde. I would get a chuckle and typically disarm any outrage over my error.

Now my absent-minded moments are so frequent that I can no longer pass it off humorously without coming off like a complete lunatic.  I regularly forget appointments, names, and important obligations. "Just write it down," they tell me. Good suggestion, but I do write it down and will lose what I wrote, or forget to check what I wrote altogether.

It's like I'm under a spell, trying to walk a cat down the street while the fat bastard just lays down and lets me drag him behind me.

To have chemo brain is to have a mind that drags behind you all day long.

It tells you that you're thinking too hard on things that were once so simple.

Your speech drags.

You stare off into space.

You tire so easily.

You overwhelm so easily.

You feel dumb.

You get embarrassed.

You burst into tears for seemingly no reason.

And yet...

You realize how cool and patient people can be, when you're just open and honest about the effects of treatment. You discover the goodness of people that you are still accepted despite your absent-mindedness reaching super-annoying heights. You realize that you're allowed to have a mind like a fat, legless cat on a leash. Shoot, you deserve a break. You're kicking cancer's ass, and it's a crazy exhausting to do so.

You're tired, go to sleep.

Stop blogging this, Matt. That's right, I'm talking to you now. 

Stop writing...it's 10:30 at night. You worked all day and you're rambling now.

Go to bed...

I said, go to bed...

Why are you still writing? Stop it...

Rest.

Thank you Matt for sharing your heart and for lifting us up out of the trenches to 'discover the goodness of people.'  It shines light into the dark and speaks hope into the night.

You are one crazy-smart Cancer Owl... Blessings and Grace!  Jane 


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