I have mostly really good days right now. People ask me that sometimes, “do you just cry in your room alone?” or “do you wake up sad every morning?” or “do you always feel like crap?”. No. What you see is what you get with me. I’m pretty much 100% real in sharing my emotions. Because. Well. That’s just my personality. Others question if being done with chemotherapy scares me. But right now, I am still in the “safe zone”. I am still within the window of time where I would not have received another round of treatment. And on Friday, I will go in for my last infusion of antibody called Perjeta as well as another round of an antibody called Herceptin. {Side note/cancer talk: I received both of these each time I received chemo {Taxotere and Carboplatin}. And this treatment regimen was determined by my type of cancer {triple positive} and my staging/lymph node involvement.}
So I suppose, I don’t yet feel like I am complete as it pertains to chemo because I will still receive infusion for a year {even though Herceptin isn’t a chemo drug}. My hair has started to grow in a little more which is both funny and intriguing to me. I hardly remember what it was like to look in the mirror 6 months ago. My eyebrows are starting to really thin out {which I was warned might happen after I was actually finished with chemo}. My bones are still sore on the daily from chemo. And I am still exhausted by naptime on most days. So, for all intents and purposes, I am still on the chemo train in terms of side effects so I suppose it hasn’t totally hit me that I am done with that phase.
Or maybe it has. And I am just trying to, as I say, ostrich. Because next week. Well. Next week I have surgery.
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Today I sat down in my therapist’s chair. I had rushed there from a meeting and was as happy as could be. Until I sat down. She asked me to fill her in on what had been going on. I told her I was essentially done with chemo. I told her I’d run a 5k. I told her I’d had so many really good days. I told her I had a birthday coming up.
And then I cried.
I don’t know the order of everything I said to her. But I know that my lip was quivering and my eyes were welled through most of it. I told her how we celebrated Barrett’s birthday. And how happy that made me. But how it made me think and hope that I’d be around for next year’s. And the ten. Twenty. Thirty. And so on… years following. And that we’d had a great Valentine’s Day filled with fun with the boys. I told her I am having a Bonboobvage party next week to send off “the girls” in style. I told her I am turning 34 next week.
And then I cried. More. Because I know there was a time 6 months that I honestly wondered if I’d live to be 34. And now, just days after that birthday, I will undergo an 8 hour surgery.
And I’m scared.
Scared to be under for so long. Because I have three babies. And a husband. And parents. And siblings. And in-laws. And family. And friends. And while hospitals do 8 hour surgeries all the time… I’ve never been the one under.
Scared to know. You see… all this time, I’ve been doing chemo… we’ve been told it’s shrinking… we’ve been hopeful that it’s limited involvement in the lymph nodes. But 5-7 days post surgery, I will know for sure. And what we could know is very good news. Or, we could hear that it’s in more nodes.
Scared of what’s next. I made this analogy before, but I will say it again. My life. Is like. A car wash. 6 months ago, the doors opened up and they motioned me in. They led me on the tracks. And even with all the swishing and craziness going on around me, I stayed focused. Focused on getting through chemo. And with each round, I knew I just had to stay on the tracks. And then… then I would have surgery. And then, maybe radiation. But there’s a chance now I may not have radiation. And that is amazing. But it also means that if I have surgery, and once I heal, the door on the other side of the car wash is going to open and they are going to send me out on my own. To live each day. And I won’t have check-ups every week. And so, I’m scared of how I go back to life “as normal” now that I’ve been through the car wash. The cancer track.
Scared of everyone saying, “hooray! You’re done” when really, as my therapist explained, I will just be starting to deal with a type of PTSD from the entire situation. Because I’ve been in the car wash. And now I have to deal with all the emotions of that.
And then, of course… I am most scared of recurrence. Of starting on the track to the 5 year mark. Of thriving. Not just surviving.
So after what feels like me being able to manage my emotions really normally and authentically for quite some time, today… I cried. And cried. I emptied my heart in the therapist’s chair. And I felt exhausted afterwards.
Adam and I have plans. Big ones. For trips and adventures and a lifetime of happiness. For us. For our boys. For our family and friends. We have plans to make this count. To not let this be something bad that happened and nothing good came out of it. We have plans to live without fear. And to live each day. And SPREAD GOODNESS. DO GOODNESS. BREATHE GOODNESS. Travel the world. Live until we’re old, wrinkly, and wearing diapers again.And I never want to forget that, just because the treatment is complete.
So I imagine the next week and a half will be full of a lot of emotions. Fear, anxiety, sadness, joy, gratitude, love, and more. Because I know there were three weeks six months ago where I questioned if I would blow out the candles on another birthday cake.
I do think I am stronger than I knew I could be. I do think that I rocked chemo. I think that I haven’t let my circumstances dictate my attitude. And I think that I have gotten through to this point, successfully.
But some days. Some days. I cry. I am scared. I am afraid of the next step. And I ask God to forgive me for being so worried.
I am not mad that I got cancer. I have said it from the beginning, maybe I should be. But this is my battle that I have. And we all have battles to fight. Things to get through. Hardships to survive. But that doesn’t mean every day is easy. And it does mean that many still are. Because that’s just me.
Today. I cried. I cried a lot. I cried hard. I cried cleansing tears. And then I cried more. Because some days call for tears.
Not tomorrow. Tomorrow will likely call for sunshine. And smiles. And the sunshine after the rain is often the best sunshine of all.
