Xhaustion (exhaustion) in Breast Cancer

Xhaustion (exhaustion) in Breast Cancer

We have all been tired in our lives. I have given birth to two children. I have traveled the
globe to cover stories where you land and start working immediately, time zone be damned.

I have worked without pause, forty-eight hours, seventy-two hours in a row, just going as
the adrenaline somehow keeps me pumped, and I will not be defeated by my body’s
greedy thirst for rest. I have gone on hikes with my husband that I have not wanted to do,
when I feel that one foot will not reach in front of the other and I will be stuck on a
mountaintop until an air rescue mission arrives. I am tired. Leave me alone.

When you undergo chemotherapy, the doctors will tell you about the fatigue. Or as my
oncologist put it, “You won’t be living that Washington professional working mother life for
a while; something has to give.” She means you will be exhausted. Not fatigued like a
delicate Victorian damsel. You will be exhausted in a way that you cannot think is humanly
possible. It is a strange kind of tiredness. At times your body cannot hold itself up. You are
a rag doll. Your brain says yes but your body flops rather than flipping to attention. The
poisons are coursing through your system; that wretched chemotherapy makes itself felt in
every part of your body. You can’t grip because your fingertips tingle from the drugs; your
toes tingle too. Your joints have no adhesion. Does my knee really join my calf to my
thigh? I can’t tell. I want to knit but my wrists and elbows have their own ideas.

Throughout it all my brain is completely and utterly awake. I have to take “rests” in the
afternoon because my body won’t keep up with the inside of my head. My thumbs can
occasionally work on the BlackBerry; my fingers can sometimes dial a phone.

I want to fight through the exhaustion. In those early weeks of the chemotherapy, I
would take a walk around the block, propped up by my husband or one of my daughters. It
is one of the most counterintuitive things—walk through the exhaustion, just to keep the
circulation going. I was diligent about this, but it didn’t stop the exhaustion; I guess it just
kept some tone in my body. It is an accomplishment to sit downstairs at the table for
dinner. As the body acclimates to the treatment, the fatigue takes hold. Day 4 or 5 after a
day of chemo infusion was the worst for me. The chemo, the post-chemo drugs to build up
your white blood cell count to stave off infection, the fact that eating does not feel good or
taste good—all these things conspire to drag you down, and this time your exhaustion feels
legitimate.

You are not being a wuss. You are undergoing a radical chemical assault on your body.

You have to acknowledge the exhaustion and just go with it. There will be days when you
feel great. On the days you don’t, just let it be. It is not about you, it is about the
chemicals. Of course, the more chemo you have, the worse it gets. The effects are
cumulative. And what you are not quite prepared for is that it stays with you well after your
last chemo session. How long? Six months? A year? Two? It is different for everyone.

Your exhaustion is not a reflection of you or of any weakness on your part. It is a
testament to the power of the drugs that are out there chasing every one of those bad cells
away. Unfortunately, they chase the good cells too. Cut yourself some slack and take as
much rest as you need. You deserve it.