I feel pretty damn good about my decision to do chemo (I'm writing this to the future Corrie who may develop a different perspective on the matter....remember...happy??). When Ted and I parked the car at Dana, neither one of us were in any hurry to get out. Up until this point, it's been somewhat in the background. Even with the surgeries, I was just a patient in a bed, not a shhhhhhh cancer patient. From the second we opened the car doors, it felt like gravity had married some stronger force which all of a sudden pulled me straight into cancer. It's not a bad thing, it's a reality thing. At the crack of dawn, the cancer patients queue up for their blood work, their consult and then their infusions. I was the only one there with a full head of hair, the new kid on the block. The healthy looking one, the healthy feeling one. Surely I didn't belong, clearly I should leave the seats open for the "real" cancer patients. They all looked at me with such empathy, such understanding. They knew it was just a matter of time until I took my seat right next to them, which I gladly did, and engage in small talk. It's a little different there, small talk has to do with the weather and chemo and life and death all rolled into one heartfelt sentence between strangers.
The infusions weren't bad, the Gemzar burned, but the abraxane was effortless. Next time we add the VEGF monoclonal, Avastin. As we were leaving, I gave into a pity party replete with "I'm so young" confetti streamers and "my babies need me" helium balloons. It didn't last long though and soon all was right with the world....in other words, I spent the day with those angels and their daddy and grandma and brother. I can always bring myself back to the present when I realize that that's were I am. The stronger I am right now, the more I can teach my kids how to be strong in the face of adversity, and more importantly, how to be silly no matter what!