Last chemo

When I started chemotherapy last September third to be precise, I never thought I would get to the end of my sentence. A stretch of eighteen weeks seemed an eternity. Then it was stretched another six weeks when my original chemo didn't work and I was switched to a new regime. Then another two when my neutrofils dropped below a certain amount. But here I am, better than I thought I would ever feel. I did three yoga classes last week (and then lay down for the whole weekend), but hey! Three yoga classes, count them! And now I'm through. I had my last chemotherapy session yesterday. I feel astounded I have passed the finishing line. And that I've passed it because the chemo worked. Amazing.

I even managed a final lesson on the chemo ward, having relearnt a valuable one on the tube getting there. 

A young girl was sitting next to me on the tube, going through a list of points written on a piece of A4. After a peek, she was obviously going for a job interview. I was in the middle of a huge hot sweat and was having to mop my head dry (yuk) but she just gave me a supportive small smile. A few minutes later she remarked that she could understand what I was going through as her sister had done chemo a few years ago and had experienced the same overheating. We chatted about her upcoming job interview - she'd been laid off a month ago and was still very angry and upset about it. As the tube drew into her stop I made the terrible mistake of asking how her sister did on chemo. She paused for too long and I was about to burst out with 'I shouldn't ask', both B and I could see where it was going, when she very calmly said, 'We lost her, she didn't make it'. Then she had to go to her job interview! I felt terrible, could I have been any more thoughtless or insensitive? It really was a good lesson in cancer etiquette. Don't ask for more information, deal with the information you're given.

So, onto the ward. When I was called for my final cycle of Doxorubicin, my heart sank that the nurse assigned to me was the one I least liked. She had given me my first chemo and she'd had to recanulate me when my vein collapsed, which was possibly why I bore a grudge against her. Remeeting her and having to spend two hours in close proximity made me realise that there was absolutely no reason for me to bear her this unrelenting enmity. She was really lovely and very good at her job. What a waste of emotional energy. I guess it was necessary for me to have an enemy on the ward. I hope that now I've learnt this lesson I can move on and not repeat it. In terms of dealing with the information I was given, it wasn't her fault my vein collapsed. I missed the fact that she remained unflustered when it happened and dealt with it efficiently. That was the information I should have taken on board.

Apparently it takes 120 days for the chemo and the steroids to leave my body. It's quite a long time isn't it? That must be the half life I was told about originally. That's good I guess, cause it is still working. Bad for my sense of taste, and I remain photosensitive - not much of an issue during British winter - but I don't care. I'm through. I have my scans coming up and a final meeting with the Proff, which I'm looking forward to as I hope to come out of it with some sort of plan.

I know I'll be back at the Marsden at some date in the future, but the future seems a while away. I'm looking forward to feeling better. As for working out what 'well' means, that's a knotty problem I'm going to have grapple with as I get better.