Strong. Fighting. Surviving.

If you want to know the medical definition of chemo brain, visit the Mayo Clinic. This is my definition - not an ounce of science behind it, but as honest and sincere as I can be.

Pick an object, any object, let’s say a rainbow. Not the unfortunate rainbows airbrushed with unicorns on t-shirts from the early 80s. This is an actual rainbow that appears over the trees and warns of an approaching summer storm. Lost in your thoughts, tired and tangled, you spot the rainbow. It’s absolutely breathtaking and you hope that others are enjoying its beauty.

You know it’s a rainbow. You can clearly see the word, picturing every letter in your mind. You can even feel the word and you bask in the happiness and warm memories it brings.

Saying the word should be simple. Rainbow. Seven letters, two syllables.

You try to say the word, but your mind is suddenly flooded with nothingness. You try to reach for the word, but it becomes smaller and smaller in your mind’s eye until it eventually disappears. You’ve completely lost the word, the image, the feeling. You flex every mental muscle trying to conjure up the image again, but no luck. Eventually you sigh, resigned to the fact that you’ve lost it.

No worries.

While chemo brain is frustrating, humbling, and even humiliating, is also temporary. The rainbow eventually comes back and you’re filled with that familiar happiness and warmth all over again.