My last chemo is next week.
This thought struck me as I was trying to fall asleep last night. Brandan was already snoring and it felt almost normal.
I long for those plain moments where I lay in bed and fret about silly things like folding laundry and getting rid of my TV. I’m turning into my mother, and I like it. I imagine one day I will wake up, write my weekly menu plan and grocery list, get Ginny in the car by myself because picking up 30 pounds won’t phase me. Then we’ll walk around the grocery store and I won’t bemoan my elbows for aching under the weight of the cart. I won’t have to beg my knees to bend one more time. Legs… please just take one more step. Then once I’ve gotten home I won’t call Brandan to come help with the groceries and I strong-arm all 12 bags on my own. Two trips are for noobs. Then I’ll put my groceries away and do the dishes while Ginny feeds her pretend cows in the backyard. Maybe while she’s outside I’ll work on one of my many craft projects, vacuum the living room. In the afternoon before dinner Ginny and I will take my bike out for a spin, then some how, though my brain isn’t convinced this much energy is possible, some how I’ll make dinner.
I know. I have pretty lofty goals. It’s like a faint memory.
My current method is to pretend like I’m not sick and just keep going. My elbows ache almost constantly, my knees as well, but I ignore them. “No,” I tell them “I will not sit down.”
Don’t judge me for talking to my joints. Some times a stern talking to is all they need.
On Wednesday, May 7th, 2014 I will be sitting at the infusion center, poison rushing through my veins for the last time. Thinking about sitting there makes me literally sick to my stomach. Thinking about cancer induces nausea. But I’m almost done.
I’m almost done.
Just this week, almost 6 weeks after I found out there is no evidence of disease, I’ve allowed myself to believe it.
Cancer is a weird thing. For me it was a big head game. I just had to get my brain through the last four months. I am a little worse for the wear, and I think Brandan and Ginny are too. Patience is not the first emotion to cross my mind when I need it, I’m quick to assume the worst of my sweet husband’s intentions and have inadvertently lead Ginny to think she needs to hug me at every opportunity… because something is unstable and she doesn’t know it is me. It’s going to take months of reconditioning my responses to get back to normal. I’m fighting the chemo brain. I’m fighting the self-protecting nature of the human brain. I’m trying my hardest to just be normal.
My blood work came back fine, still slightly anemic, but otherwise fine. The blessings of having cancer in your 20′s?
I’ve allowed myself to think that maybe this will be it. Maybe I will never have cancer again. Hope is a funny thing. It is incredibly helpful in the short run but letting your defenses down makes hope potentially dangerous in the long run.
Currently my symptoms are joint pain/stiffness, seasonal allergies (so… that’s not cancer related), tired during the day, difficulty sleeping at night, all of my finger tips are numb, and a handful of other random things that I only remember when they’re bothering me.
So… this was just a short update to say we are anxiously awaiting the day when we can put all of this behind us!
In the mean time, I’ve been doing some back-blogging:
Sorry about sending out that post about the casserole dish carriers… I forgot to uncheck the check box because my brain is a bit spacey and I got all excited about my sewing accomplishments.