The good:
Surgery is over and I am up to functioning with 1 ½ arms. Surgeon states she got everything and I do not need to darken her doorway for 3 months.
The bad:
The thoughts swirling in the recesses of my mind. Will this be my sole journey down cancer road? Knowing that the ravages of chemotherapy and radiation are looming and I have to face up to what is next.
The chemo:
The chemo to come is big and ugly. I’ll know more precisely when I meet with her.
My next steps
I met with my surgeon earlier and she was pleased with my progress. I got a script for physical therapy which is my next step so I can regain full range of motion and get rid of scar tissue. I wish I could stop right here, heal from the surgery and get back to my life. But that would put me at risk for the cancer to reappear. So, I am gearing up for the part of cancer treatment that most patients dread. Chemotherapy. I meet with the oncologist later in the week to set a plan. I know I am looking at having a port placed in my chest wall for the infusions and blood draws to come, a base-line echocardiogram, and then chemo will begin.
I know, from an earlier oncology appointment, that I am looking at a veritable brew of therapies and have been reading the reports of side effects ranging from fatigue, systemic infection requiring a hospital stay, skin trauma, blood pressure spikes and drops, nausea, diarrhea and gastric pain. I can hardly wait! I accept I am going to lose my thick curls. My neighbor is the party guy on the block. He wants to throw my hair a farewell party. Everyone is invited!
Meanwhile, I am craving the normal like an addict craves a fix. I am doing everything I can within my limitations. It mostly works and it feels really good. My friend Stacy visited, put up window boxes on my front deck and filled them with soil. I purchased a bunch of annuals and filled them. I see them from the sliding door in my bedroom and that punch of color out my window makes me smile. I am also back to walking my dogs and our time along the waterfront trail outside my house accompanied by the sounds of the ebb and flow of the bay bring me joy. I got the go ahead to swim from the surgeon and I am thinking of a very brisk dip in the ocean this weekend. Just the thought of some quality time on the beach brings me joy.
I am hanging on to that joy with the same desperate fervor a drowning person grasps a rescue tube in the roiling sea. I have no idea what my next experience will be like, how it will affect my quality of life and how I will cope with it all. But I know I must push forward as it is my best hope for staying in remission. I do not ever want to go through this again.