ad astra per aspera

I now realize with glaring clarity that unless someone was the caregiver for their relative during intense chemo then it’s hard to grasp what this total fucking change in life is.
It’s boring and overwhelming and extremely isolating and it’s become the center of my life that everything now seems to revolve around. 
I hope he feels good enough so that I can work enough so that we can pay our bills – fucking forget about the medical bills we’re going to have to file bankruptcy. 
I miss my son – I really really miss my son. I’m mad that this shit is robbing me of time with him and robbing him of the full attention he deserves from us. 
Seeing my husband so weak and sick and puking his guts up makes me feel so fucking helpless. 
I’m going to join the Y soon and start finding time to go work out when he feels good enough for me to leave him alone. 
I miss my husband. Our time is now spent talking about pills and medical appointments and do you need more pills and how much does it hurt and here is ice water and a cold rag for your forehead and here is a wet rag to wipe your mouth after you puked up everything and more in the toilet and do you want to eat anything? 
He hasn’t even started all the chemo drugs he’ll be on. Thursdays drug will start to cause mouth sores.
On that note I need to get ready to take him to the dr for another belly shot that makes him feel like he has the flu.