Tuesday, April 17, 2007 in all about me, cervical cancer

Dear brain; I miss you. Please come back.

Somewhere in all this recovery process, my brain took a nose dive. Between the drugs and the pain and the usual ADD-induced fuzzy stupor that is exemplified with pharmaceuticals, it’s been… shall we say… interesting.

Ron tries not to giggle too loudly when I forget a word in the middle of what I was talking about, forget what I was talking about and repeat myself. Repeatedly. Also, I have begun asking him questions about events and conversations from two weeks ago that I have no recollection of having.

The girls have been pretty patient as well, stating their correct name when I call them someone else. Sarah and Meaghan have been polite and gentle when they see me milling around the kitchen or dining room, confused about why I’m there and wondering what I’m doing. “You just go lie down now, Mommy,” as they lead me back to the couch. And I have every intention of answering emails or performing specific computer-related tasks, but as soon as my butt hits this chair, half my brain seems to vanish. Even with a list next to me.

But, dear readers, I shall share with you the lowest of the low. That time at which I had sunk to a level that was quite remarkably bad. It was back when the necessity of a trip to the bathroom filled me with dread. Since I was sitting in there a while (Yes, I have no shame. Thanks for asking.), and since it was quite painful, my mind blissfully wandered to a better place.

A place that involved cleaning.

Because of the pain, my head was a little closer to the floor than usual. Actually, it may have been against the opposite wall in my teeny bathroom, a fact which I had heretofore never been grateful about, but was now. The wall being only a foot away from the toilet meant I had a handy spot on which to rest my head.

It was there that I noticed the baseboards. See, when one is obligated by their body to spend quite a bit of time remaining still, one starts to notice areas of the household that seem to need a through scrub. These areas are not usually noticed in better times. Indeed, these areas are usually not even noticed by *company*. Not even the picky kind.

So there I was, staring at the baseboards, when it occured to me they were dusty. And slightly dirty. How did they get that way, anwyay? The longer I stared the more I though they need a sweep. No, a dust and a wipe down. Oh I know – a scrub. Would that scrub brush we have do the trick? No, the groove there is small… oh, a toothbrush would do it. Yeah. I need to take a toothbrush to the baseboards and give them a decent scrub. And while I’m at it, the linoleum has a spot there by the corner where the embossing has gathered some dingies. I bet a toothbrush would clean that up nice. If I could only get down on the floor… it wouldn’t be so bad because I could be down there a while and really give things a going over…

Wait a second.

I just thought taking a toothbrush to my baseboards was a good idea. Clearly, I need to get on with recovering as fast as possible.


  1. I think what you had was not a case of add brain, but normal spring cleaning impulse, exacerbated by the fact that you’ve had to slow down long enough to actually notice such details. Not that anyone else would ever notice them. You are right. Recover first, spring cleaning should be in late May or June if at all!

  2. Forgetful, repetitive, confused… sounds like me on any given day. 🙂 No drugs to blame it on here though. That is pretty bad when cleaning becomes “a better place”.

    For some reason, cleaning the baseboards with a toothbrush strikes me as something a 6-year-old girl would enjoy doing, maybe because mine has taken her toothbrush to various items in the bathroom. Me: “You cleaned what with your toothbrush? I’ll throw that away now. Yeah.” Put Emma right to work on those baseboards, just be sure to tell her it’s not okay to use her own toothbrush.

  3. OK, I was completely with you up until the point where you said “cleaning”. heh. clearly our lives are running somewhat parallel. Hope your pain & confusion clears up soon!

  4. Definitely. You need help. If you do decide it needs doing, I’m with Christine.