I've just arrived at the hospital for chemo #8 and I've just had a flashback to my first day. I arrived with all the apprehension, nervousness, curiosity and, in some ways, even excitement that came along with starting something as foreign and so widely known, but little understood by someone who has never had the misfortune to be touched by it, as chemotherapy. I was in the lift on the way up to the appointment with one other woman. She had hair, thin hair, a large bag full of magazines and water and was wearing a black track suit and big slip on uggs. She looked tired. Today I would have easily spotted her as a chemo patient. Not then though. She happened to be put beside me and later that day I got talking to her. She asked if this was my first one. She could see it in me. I asked her how many she'd had - this is number 8 she said rolling her eyes in a soft, defeated voice. Resignation to the fact that this was happening, she had to do it and having any feelings on the subject was futile. That's how I feel right now. This is happening. I'm here. Might as well shut up and get on with it.
The nurses could barely look at me today. They knew it was supposed to be my last day and that now it's not. They're amazing. I don't know how you could do that job and smile so consistently. Then again I don't know how I can do this and smile so consistently. Well, when I'm with other people, consistent smiling at home on my own would just be creepy.
The head consultant came to see me this morning also. He said he was worried I was 'stewing' all weekend and wanted to talk me down to calmness again. He did a stellar job, I'm calm. 5 more chemos and I'm done. We'll worry about after that after that.
So I'm waiting for my blood results to come back so they can make sure my body is up to another hit. It is. What's weird is that my mind is too. By Saturday I'll be good as new and one step closer. 2/3 done.
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