Anytime in life where I’ve hit a halfway mark for something challenging, I’ve always known it to be exciting, and for particularly meaningful challenges, to even celebrate. For some reason I have a hard time getting excited about this specific halfway mark. If someone had asked me before I got breast cancer what I’d think a halfway mark for chemo would feel like, I’d probably describe it as; liberating, a great achievement, something to celebrate.
Now that I’m in the thick of it though, instead of being excited about having done half already, the dark shadow of the second half is raining on that parade. I also think a small part of me feels like this may not even be the end. What if my scans at the end of this don’t come back clean and I have to do more? Would I be able to do it? (mentally/physically?). And what if down the road I get a secondary cancer and have to do this entire surgery/chemo/radiation journey all over again. These types of thoughts keep me up at night and certainly cast a shadow over things. I think someone even said to me “that’s the last of that drug forever!”…..all I could think was “is it though?”.
Regardless of how I feel, I can’t deny that this halfway mark is a measureable achievement, no matter how my mind plays it for me. Not only is it halfway, but it also marks the last treatment of the first set of drugs I had to take , of which included what people have dubbed the “Red Devil”, sounds trusting right?. As most of you have perhaps read from my previous posts, this drug was administered manually by the nurse because it was so toxic and had to be put through my veins in a specific time frame otherwise it could have caused damage. It was also the drug that the nurses suited up for; full head gear, mouth cover, gloves, etc. (because any drop of it on your skin can cause permanent damage) - only just to be putting it through my body!
Just thinking of that red drug makes me nauseous. I’m even having to pause while I write this to swallow back the queasiness that I get by just picturing it. It’s like when you go out for a night and your friends have decided it’s a tequila shot night. So the next morning you are half dead and ANY thought of tequila puts you in a dark place, or maybe even puts you in a full force run towards the toilet. That is how I feel about the Red Devil. Oh the things I would do to just have a terrible tequila hangover right now instead of this! Anyone who is reading this on a hangover currently - count your lucky stars!! (how about that perspective huh?). Seeing the last of that Red Devil go through was a pretty relieving feeling though.
While I have had my fair share of shitty moments/days, so far during this first set of drugs, I think I got off rather easy (compared to what I have heard or read through blogs/books by other women going through the same treatment). I never had the nausea so bad that there was even a chance of me vomiting. I also was able to recover quite quickly and get back to full activities by day 6/7, leaving me 7 amazing days of feeling like my best self (aside from being bald!). I am so amazed and thankful for how much energy I got back and that I was able to do things like yoga, long walks, cycling, going out and having fun with friends.
I was however a little let down on this 4th chemo round though because so far I haven’t had to resort to my back-up nausea meds. During the night leading into Day 3, I woke up around 3:45am feeling a massive pit in my stomach. The kind of pit which would normally come from you being hungry out of your MIND. That constant nagging feeling where your body is like “if you don’t feed me right now, I might make you puke, and just to be extra dramatic, I’ll make you puke up absolutely nothing so it’ll be that much more awful for you”. I knew that food wasn’t the answer for this particular pit feeling, so I reluctantly took my backup meds. I knew it was more important for me in that moment to sleep than it was to fight nausea all night long. The meds worked right away and thankfully I was back to sleep shortly after.
Despite how much I needed them in that moment and despite how well they worked, I did feel defeated that I had to take them. I know it sounds silly, but I just have had so much faith in myself since the beginning of this. I wanted to believe that my body could not only handle it but take it in strides. I also wanted to prove to myself that I truly am healthy and that this cancer didn’t change that. I had full faith that my body was capable of kicking both cancer and chemo’s ass and defy the odds. I can’t describe the disappointment of working hard my whole life on keeping a fit/healthy body only to find out that it’s not, and in addition, to find out that I have involuntarily make it even more unhealthy with chemotherapy and radiation. All those years of hard work, determination, and commitment feel like they’ve been thrown out the window.
On the contrary, the dedication I have had my whole life to staying healthy has helped so far in keeping myself moving and active even on my bad days through all of this – of which I am so thankful for. On my bad days I still manage to get up by 8am and walk Alba in the morning. On Days 2 & 3 I tend to get back into bed for a bit after the walk, but otherwise I am up and about. I try to make sure that I always make my bed in the morning because that in of itself is an achievement. It also reminds of me of a famous speech given at a Navy Seals commencement about how making ones bed is so important because even if it’s the only task one successfully achieves in the day, at least you get to return to a nicely made bed at the end of the day. I then make myself some breakfast (of which I primarily resort to eggs and avocado), and I either go through my work emails, hang out with a friend who is kind enough to visit, or I sit down and write. Somehow the time goes by and before I know it I’m outside with Alba again enjoying the fresh air.
Through and through I truly have so much to be positive about. Even though you can take this journey moment by moment and add up some dark times mixed with some dark thoughts, the truth is, I have a cancer that is beatable and I have all the odds on my side to come out of this strong and be back to myself before I know it. This thought alone is the foundation of my positivity of which I try to maintain every day. When I complain to you through this blog, it is me trying to be honest about what it is that I’m going through day-to-day, of situations and feelings that are happening to me and are real, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t smile or laugh that day, or go to bed thankful and hopeful. Just because there are moments in our days that bring us down, that doesn’t mean it can shadow over our joy and happiness in our life as a whole. It is so important to keep that separate.
Throughout my life I’ve always tried my best to not let the little things get to me, although I do recall thinking on more than one occasion; ……at what tipping point do the “little things” become “big things”?. I always was worried that one day something would hit me in life that I couldn’t put in the category of “little things” and I’d have to reach really deep to find a way to get through whatever the situation was in a positive way. Prior to my diagnosis, the tipping point always included the C word. I had thought that once I hit that tipping point, there was reason to be sad, negative, and disappointed. Now that I’m here though – with the C word (ugh, CANCER) – I feel like my “little things” category has expanded and the tipping point has widened. But then what’s the next thing in my life that will be described as “big”?
I’ve been reading Sheryl Sandberg’s book called “Option B” and she talks about resilience. She writes that resilience is a muscle that is worked on over time. The events in one’s life help to train that muscle and make it stronger. Looking back, I believe that Deanna started the work on my resilience muscle which led me to face this Breast Cancer with a fierce attitude along with a perspective that I definitely got off easy in comparison. After this, I wonder what else I’m ready for…. I certainly hope that life doesn’t have some resilience training camp in store for me…..
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