This is my news in a nutshell: I am done with chemotherapy. Recent scan was clear. No cancer. I will be monitored every six months for the next several years – five years to what they call a total cure. Statistics say it’s a coin toss. I’m not much into statistics.
I am grateful. Really. I’m still here. I’m still sane. My wife still loves me. And we’re not broke. Yet.
It’s just this: Being done is a big deal. And it’s far more complicated than marking one last X on the calendar and throwing a party. Believe it or not, finishing has been rather anti-climactic and a bit of a crisis in itself (I’m not making this up). It may have much to do with the fact that the turnaround isn’t instant. Life isn’t normal. What’s normal? I still hurt. Life has changed. I have changed.
There are complex emotions that come with the completion of 2 years of this stuff, and much to process in head and heart. Trouble is, I process on the page, and I’ve been both too exhausted and in too much pain to write any. These sentences are the first words I’ve tapped out on a keyboard in two weeks.
Those of you who’ve been following this know how badly I want to be writing a book. Writing for this blog has been a big part of that process. When I can’t write, I feel like my mind slows down. Right now I can’t write. My wrists flinch when I even get close to a keyboard. I hurt. I hurt more and more consistently than I can ever remember hurting. It’s just plain discouraging. And I’m so tired. I don’t much mind being unable to use my body if I can still use my mind, but neither seems to be too cooperative right now.
A note relevant to this conversation would be that I recently read there’s now a medical term for chemo brain. Funny thing is, I can’t remember what it was.
More when I can.
Still His (and still here),
PS. Celebrate with me however you’d like this Friday evening, when I would normally swallow nine chemo pills, but won’t.
PPS. This may seem indulgent, but isn’t intended as such: I’m wondering who in the world is reading this? Besides my mom, I mean. I get numbers, but I don’t know who might be behind the numbers. Being my audience here, your presence has been a catalyst for the telling of my story. Whoever you are, thank you.
PPPS. Please pray for us. (As if I need to ask)