It's official. The chemo has knocked out all of my neutrophils, the first responder white blood cells that appear at the scene to do battle with pathogens. I'm on my own now, trying to limit my exposure to bacteria, fungi and other nasties.
I don't know if my defenseless state had anything to do with it, but I spent much of yesterday parked on the couch. Marty and I took a short walk in the afternoon, and that used up all my energy. I spent the rest of the day reclining on my chaise longue, drifting in and out of consciousness. I managed to drag myself to the dinner table and consumed two enchiladas (Sexto de Mayo--we missed Cinco). Then I did another hour of couch time before crawling up to bed at 8 pm. You'd think that after 10 hours of sleep I'd be raring to go, but the only place I'm raring to go is back to bed.
This extreme lack of energy is normal--my blood cells are dead or dying. Hopefully, the leukemic cells are experiencing a slow and painful death, Geneva Convention be damned.
No plans for the day. I'm giving myself up to extreme lassitude. Were that I were relaxing on an empty stretch of beach sipping a margarita.