Mood: Drained. Foggy. Fragile. Enduring.

I haven’t written in a while.
Around Day 5, things shifted.
I ended up being admitted into the hospital because I couldn’t keep my medications down. Every time I tried to swallow pills, my stomach would cramp and I would vomit. It got to the point where it just wasn’t sustainable anymore—physically or mentally.
So now everything goes through my Hickman line.

It’s now Day 11.
They keep telling me I’m doing well.
And I believe them.
But I also want to say… this is not easy.
The melphalan is no joke.
I knew it would be intense, but living it is something different.

The fatigue is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
Not just “tired”—it’s a full-body heaviness.
Even small things feel big.

There have been reactions, moments where my body just doesn’t feel like my own.
And a lot of time where I’m just… here. Resting. Waiting. Letting my body do what it needs to do.
This part of the journey is quiet.
Not in a peaceful way—but in a stripped-down, survival kind of way.
There isn’t a lot of energy for deep thoughts or big reflections right now.
It’s more like taking it hour by hour.

But even here, in the middle of it…
I’m reminding myself that God is still here too—
in the quiet, in the waiting, in the parts that don’t feel strong at all.
They told me this stretch—these days right here—would be the hardest.
So if this is the bottom,
then I’m trusting that the only direction from here… is up.