chemo day

was today.  Chemo has turned from a treatment into a job.  Punch in, sit down, set up computer, weigh self, take vitals, insert needle into port, wait for pharmacist to mix drugs, start drugs, watch netflix, eat lunch, drink water...nothing too exciting anymore.  I remember my first chemo like it was ages ago.  I guess it's almost been two years, but two years is a short time to be living a "new" life.  I was scared to death, but I didn't have a choice to not put those drugs in my system.  I didn't have a private room my first time - when I lost my chemo virginity.  I remember thinking, how can all these people be sitting here like they are just passing the time?  Reading newspapers?  Napping?  Working on the computer?  Why aren't they absorbed in the momentous importance of this moment?  Why don't they look scared?  Have they all accepted chemo day as just another day in their lives?  I remember trying so hard not to cry when I sat in my first chair.  I didn't want to be the only baby there not wanting to take my medicine.  No one looks at each other...well, at least not directly.  In this public room I think it's an unspoken courtesy to try and put up some imaginary curtains for each other.  I had it pretty easy in retrospect, only 3 hours of infusion every 2 weeks.  These days I'm there for 7 hours every 3 weeks.   Some people have 8+ hours every day!  Talk about a full-time job!

My first chemo was for 5 months.  I couldn't fathom 5 months of poison, so I broke it up into milestones, kind of like semesters.  4 years of graduate school sounds like forever, but 3 months of one semester sounds like a walk in the park.  I would think, I've had 3 treatments out of 12, that means I'm 1/4th of the way through, only 3/4ths to go.  It made it more tolerable to feel like I was making progress.  It still took a lot of treatments to sit in that chair and not fight back tears and try not to steal glances at my chairmates.  These people didn't look sick.  I mean, some didn't have hair, some had wigs, some had hair.  Hardly anyone looked devastated.  Most people had some kind words of encouragement and wisdom for me because they could tell I wasn't "there" yet.  The fact of the matter is they ALL knew where I was at.  I felt weak for not being able to be as brave as these people who all had to hear the news that their life was in danger.  But no one was judging me, and no one was expecting me to just "grin and bear it".  I could have cried if I wanted to, and I silently did.  I wiped away the tears inconspicuously, but I know they all saw me.

Today I am one of those people.  Chemo day is just another day in this full-time cancer fighting job.  When people ask me what I do for a living my knee jerk reaction is to say that I am a full-time Cancer Fighter...but I don't think everyone gets my humor and I would probably create some pretty uncomfortable moments.  I just hate saying that I'm unemployed.  It's not true, I feel like I've never worked harder in my life.  I still cry from time to time, but not at chemo anymore.  The tears are different - mostly they are happy tears when I hear that my story has touched a life in a way that has changed them forever.  Or tears at feeling the open streams of love flowing from me, to you, to your family, to strangers on the street - to watching the walls of pride and prejudice crumble down as we all walk this path of life and come to the realization that we are all the same.

Physically I feel a little drained, and honestly, a little relieved.  I know when the cancer is growing, and it is.  I also know when the chemo is working, so I actually look forward to the chemo days now.  I know that I'll have a rough few days, but I get more good days than I do bad.  I know we can all relate to that one.

love,
Denise