Saturday, November 17, 2012

A Chapter Ends

Just in time for a holiday called "Thanks" giving,
my chemo rounds have officially ended.

I am feeling sad.

I am writing this as I get the last 30 minutes of
the last dose.  The woman next to me was crying.
It was hard to tell why.

It reminded me of my first chemo back in July.
It reminded me of how emotional it was.  I, too,
was in tears.  I was overwhelmed.  I was scared.

So much fear.  So much uncertainty.  
A long road was ahead of me.  
I had more questions than answers.
Questions that I didn't know would 
need to be addressed weren't even
"born" yet.

I had hoped to be one of "those" who would fly
through chemo miraculously without any ill effect.

If you have been following along, you know
that that wasn't/hasn't been the case.  Even
as I walk away today, I have chemo fog/brain
affecting me.

I thought I had, in some way, dealt with it.  
Today, though, as I spoke with someone who 
is supposed to help me with its effects, I began
to cry.

I am frustrated by the mental me that I seem
to have misplaced.  I won't say lost, even 
though a part of me wants to.  I won't say 
lost because signals point to the possibility
of a return.  Of course the wording is cautious
and guarded.  But there is promise.

It is just going to take time, and effort.

Apparently, I can cope with this, but it is
not something that can be dealt with in a
passive way.  It is going to take a special
effort on my part.  

*oh goody*

I seems like an opportunity, but just like
my hair situation, I miss the "original"
version and can only hope that it will
either be restored to its former self,
or come back even better.

Apparently all of the things that I 
described are common for those who
go through chemo, and are mentally
affected.  Mentally challenged might
be more appropriate.

But apparently there are ways to
compensate.  It just makes me feel
inferior and deficient in some way.
I *should* be able to pull things out
of my head, just like I have done in 
the past.  That fact that I don't have
that ability sucks more than you
might know, or realize.

From what the therapist says, I
should be able to reconnect to 
what is there.  The hypnotist in
me wonders about the possibilities.
It is amazing what people can
remember under hypnosis - things 
they had long since " forgotten."

I may have to experiment.

Along with my whole long list of
other things...including trying to
figure out how to get back in


Regardless of what does or does
not happen next, I must consider
this chapter concluded.   cancer
(I know it is the beginning of a
sentence...I just will not capitalize
it.  I will not give it "that" level of
importance.) came for a visit, 
and it is no longer welcome to 

I kept trying to remember tonight
that chemo was my friend.  I am
really not sure about how that came
out in the grand scheme of things,
however I did not see it in the same
way most do.  I am guessing my
hypnosis had a lot to do with that.

While chemo left me affected, I 
never once went to "blame" chemo.
If I felt badly, I felt badly.  It sucked.
And eventually the feeling left.

This time has been a lot of ups and
downs.  I am not sure I ever have had
a greater personal rollercoaster.  I
hope never to have another ride that
even faintly resembles what I have
been through.

I just have to plan on the pet scan
reporting good news.  This next time,
and each and every time after that.

I can be one that is one and done.
There are some who are that, why
couldn't I be one of those some?

I keep feeling like I should be more
happy.  Or more relieved. Or more...
something of something that I am not.

But all I am is tired.

Meeting a number of people lately
that have had long term treatments
and returns certainly did not help.

At the same time, I have met all 
kinds of people.  People who were
given no hope by doctors in other
places, but nothing but hope and
recovery at the place I go.

I have learned an important lesson
in all of this, and that is that
people with a diagnosis of cancer
are...are you ready for this?...

They have hopes and emotions and
feelings and concerns just like
anyone else.   They are not contagious,
and can be some of the nicest people
you will ever meet, if you are willing
to interact with, and talk to, them.

There is nothing special one needs to
say or do.  As a matter of fact, the
most special thing that a non-cancer 
person could do for someone diagnosed
is to treat him/her normally.   At least
that is the case in my experience, and 
in the experience of some of those that 
I  have had the good fortune to meet.

My awkwardness in that regard has
totally disappeared.  What a gift to be
able to see these beautiful people for
who they are without me limiting or
defining them by a filter called "cancer."

What a wonderful thing 
to be grateful for as a 
New Chapter Begins.

1 comment:

  1. I can only wish that your future becomes brighter than you expect it to be, with a mental state exactly like it was (quickly returning), and business as good as it was or better, but I'm certainly glad to hear this chapter, as real and as brutal as it's been for you at times, is over.

    I do hope you've been able to keep company with people who've still treated you like a person. That mentality does get weird for some people, but the disease should never off-set the idea that there's a person there too. I hope more people who encounter sick PEOPLE realize that.