Impatient To Be Well

Well, I suppose it was too much to ask that two units of blood would immediately restore me to my original factory settings.

I am, as the title says, impatient to be well. But it’s not quite three weeks since my final round chemo and I am still plodding, plodding, plodding up the other side of the V. The Scan Of Destiny is on Friday, but I have to wait a week and a half for the results. I know that I am in better shape than when I started out in January––all the fluid in my abdominal cavity is gone and hasn’t come back. (TMI? Sorry. Cancer ain’t pretty.) I still have to push through fatigue but it’s not overwhelming. I can work on my novel and actually make some progress. Some days it’s 3000 words, other days it’s 300; there are fewer of the former and more of the latter but what the hell.

Perhaps “better” would be more accurate than “well,” because recurrent uterine cancer is not curable. Given the results I had at the halfway point in chemo, it’s not unrealistic to hope for remission. If I’m lucky enough for that, I can do my best to live healthy. But there will be regular scans and blood tests, and I’ll have to keep an eye on myself. Not that I’m complaining––if that’s what it takes to stay alive, I can deal.

That’s what I’m impatient for. I’m impatient to finish recovering from chemo and to start keeping myself alive.

And if the test results say I have to have more chemo, I can deal with that, too. 

It’s just the suspense that’s killing me.