I joked with one of the chemo nurses today that I'd put in my own IV. Doesn't that just tell you something about my life. IV jokes.
The long and short of the joke was after several nurse-led tutorials, I'm an old pro at my white blood cell booster injections. I would note that the first shot required a glass of wine to steel my nerves, which was quite helpful but not technically part of their training program.
December 10, 2013 to May 13, 2014. It really isn't a long time. But the pacing has varied. The first eight weeks of the AC treatment went quickly. Treatment and chemo eclipse one week. Feeling good the next. The twelve weeks of T plus C. Like watching the clock on Christmas morning. It just wouldn't move.
We accomplished a lot in five months. We also forfeited a lot. I'd say - and Jim is sleeping so I can't confirm with him- that it was also five months of intense learning. About our families - who have been incredible and unwavering in their support, love and commitment to our return to health. About our friends - who've propped us up, distracted us and cared for us. About ourselves - who we are as people, as a couple, what we want our family to be. What we will teach our children about what matters in life. I have learned a lot about myself and I made some personal adjustments too. For example, I have learned to be more open. And I am more certain of myself and of the identity I want our family and our children to have. We will not just be takers. I do not know how yet, but it is important to me that we become a family that is more giving of its time and good fortune. I have benefitted from what others have gone out of their way to do for me and I want us to know the answer to what are we doing for others.
Today at infusion, the nurses had a party for a volunteer who put in 2000 hours in the past year. That is the equivalent of a full time job. She brings warm blankets, she talks to all the patients, she brings lunch, she finds whatever you need. She has been there every treatment session I had. She knows me now. Tells me about her home, her plans, her Mother's Day. Knows I'm the only one who eats the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. Doing for others. Making a difference.
Eleven done. One to go. Even during treatment today when I was addled with the jumbo Benadryl dose, I was giddy. So close. So close. So close.
I'm sure surgery will be difficult but I don't care. Two weeks of physical discomfort? Sounds better than sixteen weeks of a deteriorating chemo mind game.
What else?
Miles misses Dani. Zaira seems great. Ian wants to walk. He appears to have a few words. Up. All done. Dada. Traitor.
Unexpected given that I'm still getting taxol, but my hair is starting to grow back. Peach fuzz, but still. Miles asked me why I had a boys hair cut. On a similar gender-focused note, we solved the "why miles won't eat grilled cheese" mystery. "It's not for boys" he told me one day. Ah, the importance of enunciation. One not girls, GRilled cheese later, he loves them.
Huge game for the Wizards tonight.
