Bye, Devil

I finally have a free minute to do some writing … but I don’t want to. I am so exhausted and feel so crummy. Usually writing feels good to me and the words flow naturally. Now I am staring at a blank screen struggling to get started, struggling to even lift my arms.

Tomorrow is my last round of the red devil. It should feel like a huge accomplishment, but I feel so tired and so, so far away from being done. It’s like hitting the 5k mark of a marathon. You’ve broken out of the pack to find your place and have hit a good stride, found a rhythm, but you still have double-digit miles to go.

I’ll still have 12 rounds — one for each of the next 12 weeks — of an “easier” type of chemo after I’m done with the devil. Qualifying it as easier doesn’t exactly psyche me up for it, but man am I hopeful it lives up to it.

I’m getting more tired these days. Feeling more consistently queasy. More desperate for the days to move more quickly.

I got a reminder to check in for my flight to Orlando the other day. We’re supposed to be spending a magical week in Disney World, eating all the Mickey bars, wearing matching t-shirts, staying up way too late watching fireworks and parades, and meeting princesses and storybook characters.

We cancelled our plans after I met with my oncologist in January. When I asked about the trip, she looked at me with incredulity as I’ve never seen. “No,” she said. “You should not go. I don’t want you going to the grocery store.” Her concern less for physical exertion — staying active is very much encouraged — and all about exposure to germs.

I get it. But it’s still disappointing. Being cancer-free is certainly worth the sacrifice. It’s just a long, unmagical year.

I’m fantasizing about vacationing to just about anywhere you can imagine. Google thinks I’m preparing for a huge trip — the targeted ads further spurning my imagination and adding new destinations to my wish list. Thankfully the weather turning allows me to get part of the way there — enjoying lunch in the sunroom is almost like dining in a Parisian café — too bad espresso gives me wicked reflux.

I’m looking for those escapes in all the little places — like taking the kids to Carowinds last Sunday — until my plan firms up a bit. I meet with my surgeon on April 9 and am desperate to start plotting out the second half of this journey. I can’t wait to have dates on the calendar so I can resume planning for the rest of my life. When can I travel to work events? When can we reschedule Disney (and a million other trips I’ve been planning!)? When will my hair start to grow again? When can I burn all my bras? (and then when will I need to buy new bras?) When can I stop caveating responses with “but we’ll have to see?”

For now, I’ll enjoy afternoons working in the backyard while the kids play, enjoying the sun on my face and their laughter in the air. I’m thankful for a flexible employer and unicorn boss who let me hold on to pieces of me by showing up, even in smalls ways, at work, and for understanding kids who are less upset by the cancelled Disney trip than I am. Cancer certainly puts things into perspective and has sharpened my view of who I am, what I want, the person — mom, wife, friend, creator — I want to be and how I want to be seen, and how I want to shape my life.

I am OK with honestly expressing myself, getting a bit cranky here and there and letting my smile hide for a bit, but I will not be jaded by this experience. Life is still beautiful. There is so much good. I am blessed, lucky, loved.

Now I need to take a nap.