Sometimes we lose it! And, officially, I have. You’ll see why if you watch the video at the end.

But first, remember Rocky? The ref would start counting, and Rocky wouldn’t get up? And we were cheering him on, begging him. “You can do it! One more time!”

Forever the spectator, I’ve never desired to be the one to push myself to the extreme.

Getting in shape for field hockey, my friend and I would run around the neighborhood, and we’d save the giant mountain of a climb to tackle for the end. My friend’s adrenaline would pump–her favorite part of the run.

And I would question her sanity. Translation: if I were Rocky, I’d be down for the count, and happy the ref got to ten already!

So here I’ve made it to the end of chemo, one more round to go. It’s already peach season in my neck of the woods (yes, my fuzz is already coming in, and I can’t stop touching it). My adrenaline should be pumping, the end is in sight, but I lose it instead.

Not that this should be a shocker, given my track record.

Complete meltdown! It wasn’t pretty. All that mediation. Bam! Prayer. Pow! Support of family and friends. Heck, I almost had a fan club! Zap! Just like that, when what the doctor said finally registered, “No lactose for the next six weeks.”

Alex calmly said, “It’s only six weeks.”

But truth be told, visions of food got me this far. I dreamed of the day I’d find pleasure in food again, yes, dairy, milk, and chocolate–my old staples, and a glass of wine would be nice while we’re making wishes.

But visions won’t get me to the end now. I’ve been defined by what I can eat, not what I want to eat, so all dreams are off. Yes, just like that! I tried to convince Alex that I will NEVER, EVER find pleasure in food again.

Alex knows I can’t eat anything now anyway. He equates me eating food to that scene in Harry Potter & The Half-Blood Prince when Dumbledore must drink that liquid, no matter the cost.

To prove my point (just how miserable my food life will be), I went to the store two days after chemo. I spent two hours in a store with seven aisles looking for what I could eat when the dreaded food time should arise.

I came home and threw out half of what I bought when I tried it. I don’t have high hopes for the second half I haven’t tested yet.

It’s probably not the best time to experiment, but tell that to my chemo brain with no pizza to dream of.

Being deprived of the only joy to chemo (whatever happened to nutrition doesn’t matter while on chemo?), doesn’t inspire my typical happy ending. This was a tough blow!

I can’t be like Rocky here. Remember that I have fans cheering me on. Begging me to finish–insert your favorite sports metaphor here–

“Don’t lose it now! You’ve got this!”

Luckily, I must have seen this coming because there’s only one thing left to pull out of my closet and save me from giving up now.

Beanie Genie to the rescue!

I videotaped part two before my silly doctor disrupted my life with his prejudice against dairy. (Pre-meltdown).

If you recall, part one got me through freaking out about losing my hair. I should have thought of it then, but now we’ll call it “The Great Cover-Up.” Wigging Out With A New Attitude

And now that I don’t have to worry about losing my hair anymore, and I’ve officially lost more than my hair, why bother with part two?

The girls loved the first one so much, and it serendipitously coincides with today’s muse.

I’m not the only one losing things; Beanie Genie has lost it, too.

And it happens to be our lucky day because there’s only one thing that can save us now! No, the title doesn’t give away the spoiler…