Thoughts During Treatment

Work has started back up for me and I don't have much time to write. But, I did want to quickly write this down, as I keep this blog not only to educate others about the walk, but also to document my own journey.

A few days ago, I had another treatment.  They told me I only have 3 more to go (yay!).  As I'm sitting there hooked up to the IV poll, I look around and get a lump in my throat.  I'm the youngest person on chemo-row (the treatment room is set up with probably 25 recliners all in a row) by about 30 years.  The woman next to me is struggling.  She has a walker and hooked up to an IV poll.  Her obvious wig is all askew. She is trying to get the attention of one of the very busy nurses to help her make her way to the bathroom.  (I so badly want to help, but I'm plugged in and hooked up to my own IV poll, so I know I will just be in the way.)  She appears to be confused.  She's at treatment alone. It's absolutely heartbreaking. 

Another gentleman on chemo-row is getting treatment for a brain tumor. I overheard one of the chemos he is taking and I know it's going to be a rough couple of days for him. His wife says he's been battling this brain tumor for 15 years. 

Another woman, who is in a local Facebook group for women with breast cancer, is struggling.  She says the doctors tell her there is nothing left to do.  How do you wrap your head around that?  Do you admit defeat and vow to enjoy what time you have left? Or, do you keep on fighting, praying for a miracle, even if that means you spend precious hours on chemo-row and recovering from the assault chemo does to your body.  The quality of life for these individuals appear to be dwindling and where are they spending their time?  Getting treatment or worrying about this God awful disease.  

I know of another local mother who has young children.  Her breast cancer metastasized to her brain. How do you explain that to young children? Or even your husband who has to consider what life would be like without you?  You can cut off your breast, but not your brain.  That is a whole new level of Survivor.    

As the tears started to fall, my nurse came over. (God bless cancer nurses! All of mine have been amazing!) She looked into my eyes, handed me a tissue and held my hand.  Tears started to flow even harder.  All I can muster up through my tears and sniffles is "It isn't fair." She could see exactly what I saw and didn't need me to explain.  

I feel so out of place.  I think to myself "I don't belong here" but then I remember I DO belong here. I'm sitting on chemo-row, getting the same kinds of treatment these folks are.    I'm no different from them.  That is a scary thought! We are all trying to be Survivors, some of them are just having to fight harder than I've had to.

And that's where the guilt creeps in. When I leave, my plan is to get home and run, I can literally skip out of there if I want (and I just may after my last treatment).  The folks sitting next to me literally struggle to walk 10 feet to the bathroom.  My fight is almost done. His fight has lasted 15 years and no end in site. Who knows who will help her when she is feeling sick and exhausted from her treatment.  At times, I feel on top of the world, and then there are times where I feel so guilty for being spared with a treatable cancer that was caught relatively early.