The End… For Now

I know I said I’d not post much about my cancer, but it seemed apt to say something as I’ve just come to the end of my six rounds of chemotherapy.

I’ve spent almost the entire first half of 2016 having aggressive chemo. For the uneducated on such things, that was roughly 6-7 hours every 3 weeks of 3 different chemicals given intravenously. I would arrive at the chemotherapy suite at 9 or 10 am and often not leave until gone six in the evening. They were long days, though not entirely terrible when you consider the company and the coffee on tap – plus free sandwich. However, with the waiting around for pharmacists, being used as a pin cushion while the nurses struggled to find a vein that would allow the in-flow, and the not very comfortable seating, I can’t say I’ll miss those days very much.

Of course, the actual chemo days were not the worst of it. The week after could be a real test of mental and physical strength. I have to say, comparative to the tales of my fellow chemo patients, I don’t think I did too badly; many of the possible symptoms didn’t seem to bother me that much, or sometimes at all. But still, I don’t think anyone will tell you it’s pleasant no matter how well you cope. Suffice to say, I’m glad it’s over.

And that’s where the title for this post comes in. With no warning whatsoever, my oncologist dropped in the prospect of even more chemo at this stage, leaving me with an appointment for the next round in three weeks time. That’s a full-on moving of the goal posts when I already feel like half a year has been stolen from me.

And, at this stage, I’m saying ‘no more’.

I’m a firm believer in ones own body knowing itself and, if you can tune in, learning how to read the signals it sends. With that in mind,  I believe I know at this stage my body has had enough – for now. I’d started making plans for the rest of the year, and I so want to feel ‘normal’ again, if only for a while.

I want a Chinese meal, something I’ve missed out on due to risks inherent with a compromised immune system. I want to go and give my mum’s dogs a cuddle. I want to spend some time with my kids without feeling miserable and yucky. I want to start doing some promotional work for my novel. I simply want to be me again. Because that’s what chemo takes away from you, that feeling of being yourself. Other than changes to taste, for me, it had to be the worst part.

Now, I know there will be voices out there telling me to listen to the doctor, to do as I’m told – and I get where those voices are coming from, I really do. Still, I must do what I feel is right for me and at this stage it’s time for a break – as I’d originally been expecting.

I’m not ruling out further treatment in a short while. Damn, I haven’t even had a scan yet to see how it’s all gone. But radiotherapy is still an option open to me, and I know I cope far better with that from when I had it before.

I’m also definitely not ruling out further cycles of chemo in the future, should the cancer spread or continue to grow. I just know my body has had all it can take for the time being, and I owe it to myself to trust it’ll not steer me wrong.

So, for now, I’m done with chemotherapy. In a few weeks time things will gradually start to return to what passes for ‘normal’ when your name is Beckie Pavia. Of course, that can be a fairly long road itself. Some folk say it took them a full year to get back to how they were pre-chemo. I’ve got hair to grow back, cells to regenerate, a whole system to heal – six lots of nasty chemicals pumped into your body don’t just disappear in one short month.

I’d love to say this cancer will be all done and dusted from this, but that’s simply not a guarantee – or even likely, if truth be told – but one thing I want back is control, and I firmly believe that control will help give me a fighting chance. The oncologists can only take you so far, the rest, you have to do for yourself.