Better Never Than Late

It's been two months since my last round of chemo, but someone forgot to tell my body.

Or parts of my body, anyway.

My brows and lashes have been the most remedial, of course. Note to ocular follicles: hair is supposed to fall out during chemo, then grow back afterward, not the other way around.

My toenails have also come late to the party, sporting various degrees and types of discoloration.

And now my joints are getting in on the action. Or inaction.

Over the weekend, my fingers, knees, and feet mounted a coordinated rebellion against any attempt to bend, flex, or otherwise function. It felt like sudden-onset arthritis, and it was not an enjoyable element of our otherwise-fabulous trip. I was quite literally hobbling around, especially first thing in the morning or after sitting anywhere for more than a few minutes. We visited Seattle's Experience Music Project on Sunday, and I had to take two special, reserved-for-staff elevators to get around. Not good.

This latest development, on its own, can be a symptom of Lyme disease that wasn't caught early. Combined with the other two, however, it more likely means that I am having a delayed reaction to one of my chemo drugs. Never having dropped acid (shocking, I know), I guess this is the closest I will come to a flashback. Fortunately, I don't expect to need to be talked off a ledge anytime soon.

In this condition, I'd never be able to climb out there on my own.