TO THE INFUSION ROOM!
On Monday, September 10th, in just a few more days, I am gonna walk into the infusion room at my doctor's office for the very last time IN MY LIFE. I feel like I wanna stroll on in there singing "Hit the road Jamie and I won't be coming back no more, no more, no more, no more, hit the road Jamie." This chapter is coming to an end and I couldn't be any more happier about it. Soon, in just a matter of days, my experience with chemotherapy will come to a close ... I can't believe it to tell you the truth. I can't ... I began this journey, both that of cancer and chemotherapy, in February, 7 months ago. And now, here I am, with Blake sleeping next to me as I type, about to complete my run with chemo.
Chemo has become a way of life for me. We've adjusted, Rigo, my parents and I. So many family and friends have offered so much support to us these last 7 months, but between Rigo and my mom and dad, they have carried the weight for me. The three of them have given up so much of their lives the last 7 months to make sure Blake and I were taken care of. The three of them put Blake and I first. The three of them picked me up when I fell and ached when I ached. The three of them made sure I got to my countless doctor's appointments (albeit, I am rarely on time, but at least I showed up) and made sure I was never alone when the IV went into my arm each week. The three of them made sure my pain pills were readily accessible and filled to ease my pain. The three of them let me be myself throughout this process, always making me feel comfortable no matter what I looked like or what my mood was - wig, no wig, cranky, tired, sad, mean and restless. The three of them reminded me on a daily basis that I was not alone in this battle and that they were right behind me, every single step of the way. The three of them are my angels and I am blessed for having them in my life.
For me, I have gotten use to going through chemo every other week. Going into each injection was a mental challenge. I have to prepare myself for what lied ahead ... over this weekend, my "off" weekend, I will do the same ... mentally prepare myself for the pain that lies ahead for the next 10 days following chemo. That is the tough part. Not needles, the occasional blood or hours in the chair. It is knowing that because of that injection, the outcome will wreck havoc on my entire body for days to come ... trouble walking, trouble sitting, trouble lying, exhaustion, headaches, mouth sores and all with little relief, if any, from the countless pain pills I'll be popping for the week and a half following chemo. That is the hard part ... knowing the shit I have to put up with to get the chemo to KILL the cancer. Strange, huh?! The hard part is also the only comforting part to get me through this crap ... going through hell, must mean the chemo is working, right? I mean, the more it hurts me, the more the chemo must be KILLING the cancer ... not sure if there is any logic to this theory, but this thought is exactly the thought that keeps me going ... no pain, no gain ... give it to me baby ... make that a double-shot! hehehe!
So, yes, I am ecstatic that chemo is coming to an end. But now what? While my treatment is not completely over yet, surgery is ahead and perhaps radiation, the only treatment to kill any cancer that may have spread, is coming to an end. Chemotherapy attacks cancer in a person's entire body. While we know I have a tumor in my breast, we don't know if even just one little cancer cell escaped and made it to another part of my body or is in my blood. In the event that it did spread, chemotherapy worked to destroy any and all cancer in my body. (Surgery and radiation is used to treat the primary cancer - at the location of my tumor, not any other area of my body). I am happy I was given chemo. I have no regrets in choosing this treatment plan despite the adverse effects. I feel comforted knowing that we were being aggressive with my cancer. But now what?
While whatever's left of the tumor will ultimately be removed through surgery (and then some), on Monday, September 10th, I will END TREATMENT OF MY ENTIRE BODY FOR CANCER, JUST IN CASE A SINGLE CANCER CELL ESCAPED. This thought SCARES ME OUT OF MY MIND. I couldn't be more frightened. Don't get me wrong. I hate chemo. But I love chemo. I hate how I feel from it, but I love knowing it is serves to protect me to a certain extent. Yes, I am so very scared to put the shield of chemo down. Am I opening myself up again to let cancer invade another part of my body? My protective barrier will no longer be there without getting chemo on a regular basis and that scares me.
Everyone who has been on this journey before me, and all those that will follow me, we all have the same fear ... recurrence. Part of me would be okay if I were to receive chemotherapy for the rest of my life. I said from day one of this journey that I was gonna put up a fight and win this battle, if not for me, for Blake. Am I throwing the towel in by ending chemotherapy? Am I laying out the door mat and welcoming cancer in for a recurrence by no longer injecting my body with poisons? Ah, I know these thoughts are ridiculous, but I mean, are they?
This is such a bittersweet moment. I knew it was coming. It was as clear as day, like a bad break-up. I know I will be so much happier without chemo in my life, but gosh, we have so many good memories together and when it was good, it was really good. Chemo did its' job ... I still can't feel my tumor. I felt like crap, so it must of been working (not true necessarily), and I have met some amazing people during chemo. I am happy and I am scared.
It will take some readjusting for the three of us. Rigo and I can try to get back to normal as much as possible before surgery. Our lives are so completely different now that Blake has joined our family ... much sweeter! My parents will have their own readjusting to do too. I have needed them so much over the last 7 months ... like that new Fergie song, which I say is my anthem ... I have needed my parents like a child needs his blanket ... and by the way I hate that Tim and Faith song ... like a needle needs a vein ... not a happy connotation for chemo patients. Sorry, none of that makes sense. I am trying to say that I have depended on their help so much lately. I reverted to a child in so many ways. They had to make sure I ate, I took my medicine, I made my appointments and comfort me during my dark moments. Now I need to stand on my own two feet again. I need to be Blake's mother. While I will always be their baby girl, their energy can't be solely on me anymore. I am sure that while I will always have the fear of recurrence in my mind, the fear is just as real for Rigo, mom and dad too. But we can't let that fear hold any of us back. I have heard other cancer survivors say that we are the lucky ones ... cancer teaches us how to live fully, and that is how I intend to go about my journey. As co-survivors, I hope Rigo, mom and dad live fully too. They deserve it ... thank you for sharing my journey with me.
Surgery is getting scheduled and will be sometime in October or November. I will continue to blog, but as you can see, not nearly as often ... newborn-effect.
Blake will be 2 months old next week. He is fantastic! His little eyes follow me around the room now ... he looks for me and my heart melts when I see him doing that. He lays on those activity mats for babies and bats at the toys overhead with his arms and legs and scoots with his bottom. Everyone insists Blake is Rigo's twin ... they look identical. And he has the greatest sneeze ever ... he warns everyone in the vicinity that he is going to sneeze with a great big yelp immediately before the sneeze. It is hilarious! He is eating 5-7 ounces a feeding and is sleeping through the night pretty well in his own crib now. Each day brings something new and Rigo and I are having tons of fun with Blake. And Tiki just adores the little man and is super protective of Blake whenever anyone comes to visit. I must say, I am rather proud of both of them.
Cheers to September 10, 2007 ... life is still good.
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