“I can’t do this anymore,” I told him. “I want quality days instead of quantity days. I’m done with chemo.”
To my amazement, he replied, “I’ll never ask you to do chemo again.”
Yahoo!
You have no idea how grateful I am that my doctor is on my side. These last three weeks of recovering from the second round of chemo have not been fun. I’ve spent most of that time on the couch, sleeping my life away, feeling yucky, fighting mouth sores, and lately hives. I keep wondering what else can possible happen to me.
It’s no way to spend your life, so making my decision was not difficult.
Yes, I realize that this well could shorten my life, but what kind of life would I have in a chemo fog, feeling sick all the time?
Perhaps if I was 40, I would be trying every treatment available to keep me here, but not at 70. I’ve had a good long life and have been lucky enough to see my six children grow up to be successful men and a fantastic woman (I only have one daughter, and what a daughter she is).
I’ve seen my grandkids grow up and watched as they began to make lives for themselves. And I’ll become a great grandma for the third time in April. Yes, they’ve all gone forth and multiplied. It doesn’t get much better than this.
So, I have asked my doctor to keep me comfortable and let me enjoy my life to the fullest, which I intend on doing.
Lately, I have acquired a new best friend that I call Eileen. It’s my new cane, covered with butterflies for hope. I take Eileen everywhere with me. She is invaluable when I feel a little unstable and gives me a sense of security. My problem is, I keep leaving her behind me — at Safeway, Shoppers, Rexall, but luckily for me people come running after me waving Eileen in the air saying, “Is this yours?” So she is still with me thanks to the quick thinking of others.
She is handy, you see, because apparently I have a pinched nerve that causes me to be unsteady on my feet. Combined with several fractures in my spine, I have slowed down to a crawl and what I used to do in a few minutes now takes forever is seems. I have a whole new appreciation for anyone who uses a cane!
I’m also getting a handicap sign for my car, and I’m looking forward to taking the shortest route possible from here to there.
Wow! How I have changed in a year. I can’t believe I am the same person. Physically, I’m not. My body has been through the trenches, with radiation and two rounds of chemo. It’s surprising in some ways that I am still standing.
Like my daughter said, “Mom, you’re a tough old broad.” “Yes,” I replied, “I am.”
