Thursday, November 20, 2014

Chemotherapy Leg Part 11

I'm coming into the home stretch with only five treatments left after today. I met with my oncologist before today's treatment, and he confirmed that I will be getting about a four week break after chemotherapy before beginning radiation. I'm actually kind of miffed by that, now that I've been thinking about it for an hour or so; I was hoping to be done with everything by the middle of February. It looks like I won't be starting radiation until the end of January, and that won't conclude until the middle of March.

I'm sure my body will be grateful for some much needed recuperation during the break between chemotherapy and radiation, since this journey began at the end of May with the panicked phone call I received from my family doctor six hours after my first mammogram. That will make it about ten months once all is said and done. I know there are cancer patients who have to endure much more than ten months of treatment, but I must confess that by March, I'll be ready to jump out of my skin.

One of the hardest parts about this is the all-encompassing effect it has on your life. It takes over like the "blob", or more realistically, all that horrific lake-effect snow the poor people in Buffalo, New York are enduring. In many ways I feel snow-bound; trapped in treatment and unable to do much else besides submit to it.

On a lighter note, I forgot to put on one of my cherished beanies before leaving the house today. Luckily, I only got about ten feet from the door before I realized I was sans headgear. The fact that my head was freezing was an indication that my baldness was visible. No one saw me, thankfully, but there is another example of chemo brain at work. The day I forget to put on underwear is the day I give up. Until then, I'm slogging on, resigned to the metaphorical snowstorm I am stuck in the middle of.


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