Chemotherapy is OVER

DONE! WOOHOOO! AHHHH! YEAH BABY! YES YES YES! OKKKKAY! And a big thumbs up! Ahhh – no cause for another infamous swearing streak, today is only for happy words. HAPPY! JOY! RELIEF! RELEASE!Mom and I went in for chemo today. The hospital called our house at 7.30 am inquring whether we’d like to push our appoitment forward. Seven thirty felt a bit too early, so we arranged it for sometime before 11. “Any time before 11.”

So, at about 10 am we rolled into the deluxe chemo clinic. Again, things went well. That is a pattern I’m glad to have maintained during the paxlitaxel. The nurses seemed in a fine mood (but they would, as of the 25th they’ll have a 4 day weekend), one was even dressed in red with an elf hat. Very festive.

Chemotherapy took two and half hours, pretty normal. Afterwards the nurse removed my picc line. Let me tell you – removing a picc line is no big deal. Inserting the thing is a procedure (needles, x-rays, heart a pounding – though worth every second) so comparatively this was a walk in the park. Here is what they do: a heat pack is placed on the arm to ‘relax the vein’, the picc bandage is removed, and then the nurse gently pulls the line centimetre by centimetre till out, after which she presses down with gauze for a few minutes so the hole seals and no air can enter my body. Actually, I only realized half way through that she was pulling the tube from my vein. It was hardly noticeable. Why can’t all procedures be like that?

After my arm was released, we packed up the standards (oranges, pretzels, sweater) and GOT OUTTA THERE. Eighty sixed it – outtie five thousand – see you later alligator – hasta la vista – let’s blow this pop stand – I’m gone! High fives for everyone.

At the house Mom and Dad had a surprise gold star waiting for me. It’s a helium balloon in the shape of a star and is currently floating beside their bed. Pretty clever. Also there were lovely gifts from a few friends, and that was a wonderful surprise too.

Now I’m in the kitchen. Daniel and JP dragged the mattress upstairs so I could sleep yet still hang out. I’d tried sitting in a chair before but ended up sliding my tired ass onto the ground for a nap. This, clearly, is better. Mom just finished making red onion preserve and Daniel is sterilizing some jars. There’s festive music in the background and I’m sitting (sleeping) pretty. Lovely.

Sixteen down and no more to go. Over. Good bye Chemotherapy. Let’s never meet again. Never.

Next up is a vacation, followed by radiotherapy. After that it’s all about reclaiming my life. We’re starting now, which is a great reason for my being here. Marcelle is making sure I eat properly, Tony is treating me, and JP is putting me through a chemo-recovery routine.

If Zsolt were here it’d be absolutely perfect.

About 15 treatments ago I looked at the chemo schedule and thought, ‘how can we get through this?’ Talk about your obstacles; treatments felt like an uphill battle. But look where we’ve gotten – look at the view from the top of this mountain. Big goals were set (are set), and afterwards life became about the baby steps. One week at a time and you can survive. Survive to thrive. This next part (after the radiotherapy) is all about getting better.

I’m so thankful for everyone’s support. Thank you thank you thank you. Your thoughts, prayers, words, and food have been wonderful.

Right – time to lay down. Someone break out that cake! WOHOO!

9 thoughts on “Chemotherapy is OVER

  1. It was great to read this post. Congrats and I wish you a wonderful Christmas and a healthy, happy new year!
    I am going to Medjugorje next week and I will take your case again with me. 🙂

  2. CONGRATS!!! What a GREAT Christmas present to top the gift of being home for the holidays! I’m so happy for you-that picc line coming out must have been like being released from a zoo back into nature.
    Enjoy the holidays with your family and just being. Merry Christmas Catherine and family!!

  3. I’m soooo happy for you. Mine was over yesterday so I can totally relate. What a BITCH. I want a happier blog – mine is so depressing over the last 8 weeks…. I even posted photos of my death-look. ugh. I’m so ready to move forward and work out!!! I want to run out the door and keep running!!! wooohoooo. yay us! Sally

    • Wooohooo! Good for you Sally for finishing the chemo – now you can get your hair, your body, and your life back. Maybe it’s time to take down the death-look pictures (burn them!) and put up some “ass kicking/ass shaking – this is me not having chemo” pictures instead? That’s just how I feel about my own chemo pictures where I look like a bald, red-faced alien. They take me back to where I’d rather not return.
      But you know, blogs ought to reflect how we feel (because why write otherwise?) so in the past you felt like crap – that’s honest. Maybe tomorrow you’ll feel good? (maybe in a few weeks at least, as the chemo starts to fade) In either case, I’d love to read your incoming posts, if you don’t mind sharing the link. What’s your blog address?

  4. hi Catherine! The blog is My “family” of nasty tumors is finally shrinking. I posted the truth but am really ready to move away from that time. Every day will be better as you said. This has been hard on my poor body! Take a look!

    hugs Sally

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