It's All Too Much

I can't believe that over a month has gone by since my farewell to Nurse L.  Time has flown since that last chemotherapy infusion on July 19th.  I saw my beloved Struts again in Cincinnati and am already half-way through my radiation treatments.  Most knowing me would have thought I'd have popped up a "final chemo" blog post within a day or two of that treatment.


I mean, really. FINAL chemo. That's huge. One step closer to being finished with treatment. 


All I can say - what I keep coming back to in terms of a "why" I didn't is - it's all too much.


Chemotherapy is a bitch.  You start out all "I'm gonna kick cancer's ass" and, at the end, you crawl to the edge of that boxing ring and barely allow the ref to raise your hand in victory before falling indelicately over the side and passing out.


The side-effects of chemo are cumulative.  You start out with some nausea and fatigue.  Then you lose your hair (the one everyone recognizes).  Then your feet hurt, your nose bleeds, your mouth tastes awful and you have to use special rinses to curb mouth sores.  Your digestive system is just pissed, and your toenails decide to chuck it all and give up.  Each side effect builds on the one before it.  And throughout all of it, the fatigue increases.


Walking into that building on my final chemotherapy day was a bit surreal - as this entire experience has been surreal.  Honestly, I think that is how I've coped; I'm focused on getting through this year and every step is surreal.  My stepmom, Pam, had come up again and went with me one final time.


I hadn't been in my chair that day for long before a few of my coworkers showed up with balloons, donuts, a cake, an awesome gift certificate to one of my favorite restaurants, and champagne.  God bless them.  Dan, Bonnie, Kim and her girls, all surprised me.  And then, when I returned from a bathroom break, I found my sister Linda (who was supposed to be back at work in Ohio) and my Dad; they'd driven up to surprise me, too.  And just when I'd hugged those two, I turned to find my sister Jenny (who was supposed to be back at work in Indianapolis), my Mom, and my aunt Berb had made the trip as well - AND brought her Texas sheet cake with her.  Too much. 


The family also brought up a pink poster with their hands drawn on it, waving goodbye to cancer. 

The Original Wavers - #ByeCancer

I later took the poster to work and had more people sign it.  It represents just some of the people who have supported me in so many ways during these months. 

Too much.


My sister Glenda stopped by as well.  And one of my bosses, Jim.  Meanwhile, I just tried to take it all in - and failed miserably.  But, honestly, that was probably for the best.  Again ... it's surreal. 


It was a gathering that I wasn't expecting and it meant more than I can adequately describe.  Yet, leaving the infusion center that day felt somehow anti-climactic.  You expect to be overcome with emotion.  You anticipate a feeling of victory or satisfaction somehow.  But you've just had another chemotherapy infusion and what you feel is a combination of steroids and poison coursing through your veins meant to rid your body of any spare cancer cells.


Leaving the building isn't the end of chemotherapy.  Your fresh dose has yet to begin to wreak havoc with your body, to add its own side effects to the mountain that has been accumulating the past five months. 


To try to absorb and recognize at that moment the enormity of my last chemotherapy infusion was to potentially fracture my carefully constructed "let's get through this" façade.  Nope. 


Too much.


I think that is why it has taken me over a month to finally sit down and write this post.  And, frankly, my body is far from recovered from the side effects of chemotherapy.  My feet hurt, some nails are clinging on stubbornly despite the fact that there is no saving them now, and that fatigue.  Oh, the fatigue. 


I'm beginning to believe that "Fatigue" is the very worst "F" word out there. 


But my cough is finally gone, my nose bleeds have stopped, I can take deep breaths once more, and my hair - or at least the "advance team" for my hair - is about half an inch long now. 


If you're in the midst of chemotherapy right now or getting ready to begin it, as I've said before, you'll get through it.  I did.  Take it one day at a time.  Address side effects as they come up.  And rest.  Hydrate and rest.  Accept help.  Trust. 


You'll get through it and, in about a month or so, you'll look back and wonder how you did. 

Mommy Dearest

So ... I have issues with Mother's Day.

Call it latent angst from my shriveling eggs realizing that they'll never earn that magic ride to the castle and chance at immortality by passing on some amazing freakin' genes.

Call it a massive left-over guilt trip of having been a soccer mom step-mom only to have it ripped away then gradually losing touch with a now 21 year old young man whose diapers I once changed.  [Thank God and his common sense that he has found a job he enjoys and is making his own way in life (while wisely loving geek movies and books along the way).]

Call it that middle-aged recognition that my Mom is a real person with human weaknesses and that we might have very VERY different ideas about life, love, values, music, movies, hobbies, fun, morals, ... just about everything.

 ... like whether the 's' in Illinois is silent. 

                                                     [YES ... IT IS.]

... like whether davenport and couch mean the same thing; or toilet and stool; or dinner and supper or lunch.      

       [PERHAPS ... BUT PEOPLE IN MICHIGAN LOOK AT YOU WEIRD.]

... like whether she should ever say the words "moist' or "ripe" ever EVER again. 

[FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY, NOOOOOOOO!]

I digress.

-----

Mother's Day rolls around each year and I'm faced with a combination of gratitude for those "mothers" in my life, including Mom, and jealousy over that important part of life of which I've only had a small taste.  I'm at "that age" now ... again with the shriveling vision ... the age at which that possibility is pretty much, well, gone. 

I'll never have my young Jasper or Kimber (oh, yeah ... I HAD names picked out).  I'll never have that small person who looks to me as "Mom" and seeks out my advice.  My step-son, my niece and nephews all have moms of their own.  I'm left with "Kimmie" or "Aunt Kimmie." 

Now, having an Aunt Berb and Pam of my own, I know very well that the "aunt" and "step-mom" role can at times be a role just as important as mom.  Sometimes, we have adults in our life who have played the "like a mom" role and will forever receive Mother's Day recognition whether they have given birth or not.  It's about sharing knowledge, listening, and love.  I DO get that.

On Mother's Day, though, it's never quite enough.

I wish it was; really, I do.  I wish I could write the inspiring - "I may not be a Mom but I'm an aunt and that's enough" - post where I spew thoughts of "it's enough to be a part of their lives" and "it takes a village ... as long as the hooker, drunk, and crime lord are already locked up" but ... the truth is that while I might understand the important role I can have in the lives of my loved younguns, it is impossible for me to believe that it is the same.  Important, but not the same.

                             Eh, I know. That's just me having a mother-hugging pity party

I get through this particular May Day each year by focusing on celebrating my Moms - My Mom, my step-mom, my aunt, my sisters, my sister-in-law, my friends, pretty much every female who loves and accepts me for who I am while advising me on life.

                      And/or spending a few days volunteering at the zoo.
       That, more than anything else, typically cures me of any desire to give birth. 

So, power to the mothers of the world.  Relish those young hugs, kisses, and cries of "Mommy!"  You are one of the most important people in a person's life - from birth to adulthood, you will help shape a personality.  You give confidence.  You give courage.  You give hope.  You give support, knowledge, and love. 

Happy Mother's Day this Sunday to the mothers in my life and yours.  Salute!