Two down, Two to go ...

The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. But it was touch and go there for a while. The second FAC treatment was supposed to have been "easier" than the first but that was hardly my experience. Now I am dreading the third and fourth but take pleasure in the fact that I am halfway through the process of this more toxic chemo.

There are no photos of this chemo session since I slept through most of it. Besides .. how many pictures of me lying in bed hooked up to bags and bags of Herschel-reducing chemicals do you really need to see? I just thought I'd spare you.

Instead, I am posting a video of photos Dave and I took one day last week when I thought I was strong enough to get outside and enjoy the wild roses, yucca and cactus flowers. Dave saved me from falling into the roses when I lost my balance and almost went face first into the brambles. It hurt my pride to think I was so weak I couldn't even bend over to enjoy a rose but I was grateful for Dave's attention.

Moments later, back on our property, I squatted down in the meadow to take some close ups of the beautiful, waxy cactus blooms that were just glowing in the sunshine! My joy and wonder over the flowers soon turned to tears and frustration when I realized I couldn't get up. There was just no strength in my legs and Dave, yet again, had to come to my wobbly rescue. It just broke my heart and I cried for awhile grieving for the loss of all the things chemo has taken from me.

In fact, the tears have flown pretty freely the past couple of weeks. What little hair I had (ugly, granted!) flew away within a week after the second treatment. My eyebrows consist of a few hairs now and look more like two scraggly spiders there above my hollow eyes.

I no longer recognize anything about the person who looks back from my mirror. She looks like those sick ladies at MDA. There's no sparkle, no life in those eyes. They aren't mine. I've tried to tell Dave that it's not just a matter of vanity. I've accepted, grudgingly, that I am vain. But this is a disconnect between who I think I am and the identity of that sick person staring back at me from the mirror. And the fear that that sick person in the mirror might be the one I am stuck with .. and the strong, brown, healthy, happy girl I used to be lost forever.

I know that everything happens for a reason. That God is in charge and that there is a plan. I've walked through fire before and come out tempered and strong on the other side. If this is just another test to show me what I am made of then so be it. On this day, I know that I can make it to the end of my chemo sessions. And after that, surgery and radiation will seem like a walk in the park.

Cancer has not been at all like I thought it might be. It's shown me a lot of things about myself that aren't all that appealing. It's made me realize that I am mortal and sometimes fragile. It's humbled me. It's broken my heart and withered my spunk but's not gotten the best of me. And it won't. I know that this time next year I will be cancer free with renewed strength and hair and eyelashes and eyebrows and the face I see in the mirror will again be mine. All the things that cancer has taken will be replaced with healthy new vigor and all the things that cancer gave me, the boundless love of family and friends, the knowledge that my God watches over me and cared for me, will remain.

In the end, cancer will have given me far more than it has taken. And I
can live with that.