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

business.

So...

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 

stay.  

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?...

people.

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.