I’m having a day.
The routine of chemo days is firming up. The day before, I get what they call “anticipatory nausea,” which is my body’s way of telling me that we’ve been here/done that before and it doesn’t go that well for us. The other part of the routine is usually a sleepless night the night before. The part that I find so fascinating is that I’ve had a relatively easy go of it, as side effects go. But I suppose it’s understandable after 9 infusions of two kinds of chemo my body would start to grow tired of the whole process.
To be honest, I was kind of an emotional wreck this morning. I dropped the girls off at my sister’s house (Aunt Bebe is the absolute best) and then on the way to the treatment center, I could feel the emotional wave coming. Do you ever get that? This time I could see in the rear view mirror that it was gaining on me.
I got to the treatment center (aka the Cancer Institute, which for some reason makes me think of a bunch of Disney movies) and the wave caught up with me. I listened to a song by Alexi Murdoch that I was recently introduced to. It’s called Something Beautiful. (I highly recommend listening.) That sent me down an Alexi Murdoch rabbit hole and if you know anything about his songs, you know that they’re the perfect choice if you want to let loose a big cry. I chose Orange Sky for this noble purpose. Or maybe it chose me, I’m not sure.
After I was done, I pulled myself together, put my mask on, and headed in. When you come in this frequently, you get to know many of the nurses really well. The nurse who did my blood draw was new to me, and she was lovely, of course. She asked how I was doing and I confessed that it was an emotional day for me, that I was struggling with how long the road was feeling. She then told me that she has gone through chemo twice, and that she knew I would get through it. It is always so different when I hear that from a fellow survivor. She had breast cancer 27 (!) years ago and then again 15 (!) years ago. And here she is, still kicking ass, and of course, in such a giving profession. There she was, a gift from the Universe, at exactly the right moment. I needed so badly to hear her story of survival.
I went back to see the doctor and I got my favorite nurse. She was there on the very first day Sean and I came in. I was so salty to her that day because I was just angry at the world. I was particularly crusty when she wanted to get my weight, which was approximately the sixth time in the past two weeks. I just couldn’t take it one more time. (Also see my post from yesterday.) She couldn’t have been more lovely to me that day and every day since. She even introduced me to the wig maker.
Anyway, I haven’t seen her in a little while and I’ve been meaning to tell her how much her entire approach with me has meant to me. So of course, I chose the day when I’m already at my emotional limit. Good choice. Anyway, I just had to tell her how much she has meant to me. We both cried.
Sean came to sit with me again today. I have no words to adequately express how comforting it is. And he’s famous with the nurses now. When they come to get me from the waiting room, they’re already strategizing about which available seat has the best view of the parking lot for him.
Later when I saw my oncologist, she gave me the most amazing pep talk. I can’t tell you how amazing it was to hear her say, “This part is the hardest. The path feels so long, but you are doing so well. I’m so proud of you and how well you’re doing. We’re all so proud of how well you’re doing.” It was even better than the “superb” I usually get for my nutrition levels.
After a day like this, I did the only sensible thing and I came home, ate a brownie, and drank milk from a wine glass.
