86 pounds buck naked

Sunday, April 7, 2019. It’s been a pretty quiet week since my chemo on Tuesday. I’ve been doing a lot of visualization about my tumors dissolving.

When I’m in the shower I imagine the tumor breaking up into tiny little granules and swirling down the drain screaming, “NOOOOOOOOO!,” while I stand there with a shit-eating grin on my face. It is a powerful few moments where I feel like there is a cleansing happening inside and out.

The other thing I do when I’m laying down is cup my hand over the tumor site and imagine that it is a very destructive magnet that only seeks out nasty cancer cells. Then I slowly move my hand across my chest and up my throat and then when I get up to my mouth I blow the cells off my hand and watch them dissipate into the atmosphere. Drifting off as harmless little nothings. Here comes that silly grin again.

My infusion on Tuesday was number 12. NUMBER 12!!! That was supposed to be my last one, and I can’t help but think about that a little. But I have this week and next week to go. I am feeling more confident than ever that the MRI on the 15th will show how little, if anything, is left of the tumor. I have been reveling in all the good healing energy you all have been pouring my way. I feel it wash over me like a wave. Not a cold, take your breath away, kind of wave. Rather a warm, healing, nurturing, love-filled wave that makes the cancer shrink into nothing.

My chemo nurse was Lisa again. She is just the most amazing and kind-hearted woman. In our conversation on Tuesday she shared that she is a 5-year survivor. We did not discuss the details, but it brought us even closer. I told her I have two more infusions to go, and she said the nicest thing. She said she didn’t want me to go. That she will miss me. Listen, I’m going to miss Lisa and all my wonderful caregivers at the Infusion unit. They make it bearable, and I love them for it. Lisa had to leave at 430p. So my second nurse was Paige, a young former traveling nurse. As we were chatting, I told her how appreciative I was of her care. I told her what amazed me the most was that she chose to be an oncology nurse. She chose it. That takes a special type of person. Someone who day-after-day helps people of all ages fight for their lives, and manages to be comforting. Someone who doesn’t get rattled when things go sideways. Someone who will do whatever is within their power to make you as comfortable as possible under very stressful conditions. Someone who shows no judgement. Someone who smiles and genuinely cares.

And so, I am just two days away from infusion #13. It doesn’t seem possible. It doesn’t seem real. But then, since the day I was diagnosed, it never has.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. —J.K. Rowling