I've just finished my eleventh round of chemotherapy and, unsurprisingly, it has begun to take its toll. I guess when you reach the 11th round of anything (a heavyweight prizefight, your turn to buy a round for the eleventh time), it is time to think about packing it in and going home for a rest. I'm almost there. When I swallow these seven capsules of poison for five days every month, I think - just attack the cancer.
While chemo has come a long way and I'm grateful that I haven't experienced the terrible nausea that used to be part of the experience, chemo is a carpet bombing technique not a precision guided missile. Rather than weakening just the unruly cells, it goes after everything which leads to the fatigue, vulnerability to infection, and the general sense of not feeling quite right. Collateral damage comes with the territory.
There is a great Steve Martin sketch from the early eighties in which he is playing Socrates awaiting his execution in an Athenian prison. One of his followers solemnly enters holding a bowl and says, "Socrates, your hemlock."
Steve jumps up, says thanks, and happily downs the entire bowl.
Horrified, one of his followers says, "Socrates, hemlock is poison!"
"It is? Why doesn't anyone tell me this stuff?"
One more cycle to go. While part of me is relieved and ready for a break, the lingering question remains - what next? We'll just wait for the results of the next scan and see. I have definitely learned that there is no need to get too far ahead.
In the meantime, it is great to be home (listening to the foghorn on the Golden Gate at night), settling into what is truly our own place for the first time, and building up strength for whatever is coming next.
While chemo has come a long way and I'm grateful that I haven't experienced the terrible nausea that used to be part of the experience, chemo is a carpet bombing technique not a precision guided missile. Rather than weakening just the unruly cells, it goes after everything which leads to the fatigue, vulnerability to infection, and the general sense of not feeling quite right. Collateral damage comes with the territory.
There is a great Steve Martin sketch from the early eighties in which he is playing Socrates awaiting his execution in an Athenian prison. One of his followers solemnly enters holding a bowl and says, "Socrates, your hemlock."
Steve jumps up, says thanks, and happily downs the entire bowl.
Horrified, one of his followers says, "Socrates, hemlock is poison!"
"It is? Why doesn't anyone tell me this stuff?"
One more cycle to go. While part of me is relieved and ready for a break, the lingering question remains - what next? We'll just wait for the results of the next scan and see. I have definitely learned that there is no need to get too far ahead.
In the meantime, it is great to be home (listening to the foghorn on the Golden Gate at night), settling into what is truly our own place for the first time, and building up strength for whatever is coming next.
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