Walk in my front door and you have a choice to either walk seven steps up or seven steps down. No big deal, right? Well, not if you're me. My lungs threaten to pop out of my chest with the summit of seven simple steps.
I'm up and down those stairs all day long. Play room to living room to Z's room to C's room to laundry room to kitchen. Up. Down. Up. Down. Former Susan could manage these menial tasks, sprinting and with a smile.
I feel like an old woman smoker. You know, like the waitresses at truck stops in the middle of Arkansas. You can hear her hacking up a lung just before she delivers your greasy hamburger and side of onion rings. Yeah- her. That's me.
That's right, seven stairs makes me winded.... loser. Hubby says, "just work out more." I say, "just finish getting your ass kicked by chemo." This is definitely a side effect that I'm not happy with. Or, maybe I SHOULD work out more? Silly of me to think that going up and down my stairs 262 times a day IS a workout. Or that chasing a naked 2-year old around the house for 30 minutes is a workout.
Guess I'll have to take those stairs slower and patiently wait out this ride. Only 10 days until my last round!
Umm... reality check. 7 stairs IS OFFICIALLY a work-out for an individual who is severely anemic and immunocomprimised because of her chemotherapy. Consider yourself a bad-ass for continuing to chase around the 2 year old and the 4 year old and the hubby and work and errands and life!
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