I finished my last chemo treatment last week, hobbled out of the hospital, saw a surprise party in the street with all of my loved ones, and started doing high kicks and ringing that bell like I was in a parade. My hospital doesn’t have a bell to ring so my sister gave me one. The kicks were more like medium-high kicks. Alright fine, knee-high kicks.
I was surprised to be a little scared about finishing chemo. It was something that was stopping this cancer in its tracks. I didn’t know for sure if it was working because my tumor hasn’t shrunk, but it still felt like it was saving my life.
Now that I’m done, I’m really done with that shit. I’m no longer worried about the cancer making a come back before my surgery. I did an MRI and mammogram on Friday and the doctor said it looks “mo better”. He said there are calcifications which indicate a necrosis of the tumor, meaning it has shrunk in both the breast and lymph nodes.
My body would not be able to handle any more chemo–it was a lot. It was just the right amount. It did what it had to do, and I’m grateful. You get your last dose of chemo, and you want to have a party, but you still feel terrible. I’m finally on the mend and getting stronger and healthier every day.
I won’t talk politics in every post but I do still find myself relating my body to our country. We are both diseased and ugly at the moment. My country has a Trump and a have a Lump. But there can be victories big and small. Standing Rock will no longer have a pipeline through and under its river, and I will not have chemo flowing through my veins. I am losing my eyebrows and eyelashes, and my country is losing its dignity. We might not look pretty doing it, but we will survive.