Today was Chemo Day number five. My chemo regimen consists of
four rounds of drugs Adriamycin and Cytoxan and four rounds of a drug called
Taxol (total of eight treatments every other week for a total of 16 weeks.) I will finish up at the end of June. I began Dose Dense Taxol today
and my biggest fear was an allergic reaction. I was made aware of increased allergic reactions to Taxol. I have prayed and prayed that I
wouldn’t have an allergic reaction to this medication. Today I met with my
doctor and he seemed pleased with where I was and how I was responding to
treatment. He told me that he thought this drug would be much easier on me
and also I will no longer have to come in the next day for the Neulasta shot (I
sometimes think the Neulasta shot was harder on me than the actual chemo!)
As I sit here and think about what I am feeling and what I
want to share, the tears just roll down my cheeks. I have learned so much over the last few
months—about myself, about the human spirit, about generosity and selflessness, about
faith, about family and friends, about my community, about cancer and those who
are going through it and those who have survived it.
As with every chemo and every appointment, my best friend
has been by my side. Because today’s treatment lasted so long, she had to leave
to get her kids from school and I was by myself for a couple of hours. Not long
after she left, I missed her! I thought about how lucky I am to have her by my
side every step of the way—to listen to my irrational thoughts, to cry with me
that one time in the car (yes, we only cried together one time over this), to laugh with me, to ask questions, to insist that
the doctors run every test imaginable so I will not worry, to untangle my tubes
so I can go to the bathroom, to get me Lay’s and ginger ale, and most of all,
to just be there. Always.
There’s a girl who takes treatment on the same day as me and
we do not even know each other’s names but when we see each other, we light up
and there’s a shared bond that’s really kind of unexplainable. We’re both going
through the same thing. I think about how exciting it will be when she finishes
and when I finish and we can blow that popsicle stand, but as weird as it sounds, I have spent crucial time with
these people and it’s going to be hard to leave them all (the nurses, the staff
and the patients.) I have compared fighting cancer to being a soldier and
although I don’t know if I am right about this, I suspect that when a soldier gets
to go home to his or her family, it’s the most wonderful thing, but at the same
time, there’s that same feeling of leaving those you have served alongside
through some of the scariest and hardest times of life.
I am 5/8 of the way through this part. I will have my
surgery in August and then my second surgery will be in November. I have said
that I just want to get this all over with so I can get on with my life and
have normal dilemmas once again like what am I going to cook for dinner and who
can get the kid from practice tonight.
While I won’t have to go to chemo every
other week or have the side effects or have drain tubes or all the other things
that are happening now and in the future, this will now forever be a part of
who I am. Nothing will really ever be the same as it was because I am no longer
the same as I was. My friendships are deeper, my gratitude is richer, my faith
is deeper, my family is stronger, and my priorities are realigned.
I still hate doing dishes and cleaning the toilet. I guess some
things are still the same.
-lightningbug
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