Halfway Through The Woods

I’m midway through my chemo treatment now and I can’t believe how the time has gone by. Every 21 days a month as the sun rises a capsule slides down my throat. I call that medication ‘Leni’ (Lenalinomide). Every Friday for four weeks, I get ‘B or Bey’ (Bortemozib) as she’d prefer to be known, injected into my body. Every Thursday, ‘Pantee’ (Pantoloc) and ‘Dexa’ (Dexamethsone) prepare the way for Bey to do her thang. Her toxicity mingles with my blood and she gets to battle. There are times when the aftermath is hard on my body and there times it feels all I’ve taken is a few too many paracemetol tablets. Then, there are times I don’t feel ill, yet I know my body is ill. Oh yeah, there is also Z-Mat (Zometa) who crushes the party once a month.

This is journey is tough. And as I begin the next stage of my treatment I get anxious and still hope that the chemotherapy will be good to me. The pain is sporadic. I’m lucky not to have vomited at all, nausea…what is nausea? But there has been itchiness, exhaustion, night sweats, joint pain and fevers. But I still have my hair and have managed to spot a beard!!

However, there is the mental mire that is part of this journey. There was initial disappointment with my body for letting me down and the complete turnaround of embracing this new normal and urging my body to fight for me.

Mood swings, tick; fear, tick; questions on my mortality, tick; gratitude, tick; humility; tick; tenacity, tick; thoughtfulness, tick; learning and unlearning; tick, patience, tick; anxiety, tick; surrender, tick; fight, tick, tick, tick!

You’ve noticed there’s no anger,tick; in that list, because I’ve resolved to be best of my ability, not to be angry. It takes too much energy and why be angry at situation that can’t be changed? I’d rather watch the sun travel and dance with its shadows. I also haven’t mentioned tears, because that too is obvious, as they have kissed my lips.

But, we are halfway, though not out of the woods.

Almost a year ago, I was preparing for the Kilimanjaro Marathon and I’ve found myself re-living what was a grueling race, but extremely rewarding run. The first half of my treatment is like the first 21 kms (put it in miles), where I have fresh flesh, mind is strong, the sweat welcome and the focus is steely. The next 21, the legs feel heavier, the thighs pat one another, droplets of sweat sting the eyes, an aches seem to have crept to the service and the breathing is now labored. Then, there is the wall at around the 32 km. Where your body stops and you run on resolve and reserve and camaraderie from fellow runners and the public pushes you on. You dig deep and then you dig deeper! When you can’t then others help dig for strength.

That’s how I look at this second half of the chemo. There’ll be another analogy or sports reference for the surgery that lies ahead. I need to replenish the lost energy, recharge the creativity, fire up the faith, oil the hope, and dig deeper and when I look like I’m flagging, take position. This race is tough and though I may be the one running it, I know for sure I’ll need the crowd.

Here’s to the other half!

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