The Return to the Chemo Suite
On Tuesday afternoon, I make my return to the chemo suite at Royal Victoria Hospital. I haven't been there since the spring. Leaving, I had a very reasonable expectation that I might never have to go back.
But I have to go back.
Last chemo winter, I was so very careful. No theatres or other recreation. Grocery stores during off hours only. No rare meat, raw fish or runny eggs. Last winter, with the promise of surgery, it was easy to hold to these rules. It's going to be much, much harder this time. I need to ask what the risk level is.
I've been busy this past month. A few weeks ago I packed up my work toolboxes and all but officially ended my work life. I'd have gone back had the surgery panned out, but I doubt I'd have lasted very long. My time off had given me needed perspective. Going back in wasn't very hard or emotionally draining because of that. I've managed to get rid of most of my books, I only still have stuff I want to (but am unlikely to) reread. It's only a small box worth, I'm comfortable with that. Also gone are all the non horror VHS tapes. Months and months of trying to do this task have finally allowed me to work through the feelings problem. As a collecter bordering on minor hoarder, it's a good feeling to get stuff out the door without anxiety.
I have a tremendous amount of dread for the coming six months. It's absolutely necessary and it's going to be rough. I don't want to feel sick all the time (even though I already do) and I've grown vain and really, really don't want to lose all my hair. I love the way my hair grew back, it's how I long wanted it to be. I'll spend the winter in a fairly strong physical and social isolation. When terminally ill people talk about whether further treatment is worth it or not, disease state and side effects are part of it, but so is every other aspect of our lives. Right now, even with this dread, further treatment is worth it for me. We all have to know and accept that won't remain true forever.
