Friend or Foe
I have just finished my third round of chemo-therapy. Round 3 and going strong. But honestly, three times is not a “charm.” Nope, I wasn’t charmed by the four enormous IV bags dripping into my veins. But I must have it, and I must let myself be swept away by its charm, like a wayward lover wooed back into a tumultuous relationship.
I hate chemo…but I love chemo. It’s the most destructive relationship I’ve ever been in. I really don’t want to be in it, but I have to in order to survive. Hence, my passion grows.
Not quite as exhilarating as a Jane Austin novel, but in my world, just as worthy.
As chemo lingers and festers in my body, doing its handiwork, I continue living. For the first 10 days, I feel as if I’m trying to digest doorknobs and pipes, with a continual metallic taste in my chest and throat. Then, each day after, I wake feeling a little closer to being human again. My skin goes from sallow grey, to pink and my energy and taste buds come back slowly as well. Then by the time I start feeling terrific, I have to go in for another round with my dude, Chemo.
But when I feel good, it is oh so good. And I start to venture out again. I love a good adventure, so I am all game for everything with my kiddos. We swim, have play-dates, and hit parks for hours. I might have to sit, but I’m still there and that feels terrific.
Yesterday, my friend Megan ran a triathlon. I wasn’t going to miss it. How inspiring for me to watch elite athletes, as their muscular bodies are pushed to their extremes! I have never seen so many tummy six-packs in my life. These people do not have muffin-tops! They do not have the flesh hang-over! These people are motivated!
I searched for my friend who was kicking some serious booty. I found her on her bike and screamed my head off, “Go Meggo!” I was so proud. Then she transitioned and ran by. I screamed out again, “That a girl Megan! You’re doing great!” The lady next to me said, “She looks really strong.” “I know!” I said excitedly, “She’s amazing!”
Then the walls came tumbling down…
“Is she your daughter?” the lady asked. What? My daughter? Is she my daughter? Oh no, you did not just ask if my 38-year-old friend, my friend who is the same age as I am, is my daughter. “Maybe this lady is drunk?” I thought. She must be wasted, even though it’s 8 a.m. Some people do like their Bloody Mary’s.
Sigh. “No, she is my friend.” I said despairingly. Why did you have to ask me that? I shook my head, pushed back my phantom hair, and then I let it go. She obviously needs glasses.
It wasn’t until a few hours later, when I ran into one of my oldest brother’s friends, that I began to seriously wonder. We chit-chatted away, realizing a lot of our siblings (he was one of eight as well) were buddies and our parents knew each other well…then he said, “Are you Tom’s older sister?” Big sigh.
Come on now people! Just because I have a scarf on my head does not mean I am over 50 (not that being over 50 is a bad thing – I just want to get to my 40’s first)! Oh, woe is me. Woe, woe, woe.
After obsessing about it, I am blaming my lover, “Chemo.” Chemo has stolen my youthful looks, my youthful hair, and my youthful sense of humor. It’s all Chemo’s fault. Darn-it all!
This relationship filled with highs and lows won’t last forever. But for now, no matter what the cost, I’m grateful for it. Even though Chemo is aging me well beyond my years, Chemo is allowing me to experience more years. Now that’s a great trade off in my book.