Is This What Rock Bottom Feels Like?

To be honest, it's not rock bottom. Things could be worse. They could always be worse. I could be dead. But I'm not. I'm alive and kicking. I'll be kicking and screaming tomorrow as I head back to chemotherapy.

So about that hysterectomy. It was the right choice, certainly at the time, with the information we had at the time. But it turns out there wasn't any cancer in there. The doctors in Boston did their job. But then the bloodwork was bad. It went up. Again. I feel like it always goes up. We weighed our options carefully. I cried a ton and then we settled on more chemo.

There is still cancer somewhere in my body. We don't know where. That - to me - is the scariest part. I feel like we are playing hide and go seek with cancer somewhere inside my person. We think it's in the lungs. Dr. Evans says history has a way of repeating itself. I had mets to the lungs both times before. It's just that the blood was 35 and that's too little to see on the PET scan or any scan for that matter. So again, we were faced with a choice. Wait and let cancer grow for a little bit, maybe a month and then see if it gets big enough to see on a scan. At least then you will know where it is. Or, start chemo immediately without giving the fucker a chance to grow at all. We chose the latter. I feel fine with that choice. I don't know if I'll still feel fine with it tomorrow.

My dad left yesterday. My mom arrived today. It's been wonderful to have my family around while I wallow. Mommy and I are heading to the hospital bright and early to be admitted for chemotherapy. You remember the Chemo Lounge, right? The fun, bright, almost cheery room full of recliners and friends? Yeah, I can't have chemo there this time. Well at least every other week. I'm being booted to the hospital for an overnight stay because the methotrexate needs to drip for 12 straight hours. Dr. Evan's Chemo Lounge is open a normal, respectable 8 or 9 hours. But 12 is too much. The women there have lives and families and have to eventually go home. I can't just set up shop there permanently (although I would like that.) So off to the hospital with me.

I feel like I had the Chemo Lounge licked. I actually enjoyed being there. I thought I had a good routine going. So to be sent to the hospital for a Wed-Thurs infusion is a total disappointment. I'm anxious about it because I don't know how it's going to go. I'm worried it won't be as smooth or relaxful. I'm sad I won't be able to see all my fellow patients and friends and kabitz about the latest anti-nauseau tricks. The hospital will definitely be different. But I'm sure it will be fine. Mommy and I are going to give it our best shot tomorrow. We're hoping for the best.

It's going to be a few more months of this. While I thought Labor Day might have been the end and I was worried about a firm "finish line" - now I won't complain at all. If there's no formal finish line and I just quietly slip from the Cancer column to the Cancer-free column, that's fine by me. I just really want to be Cancer-free. And sooner rather than later.

Wish us luck. Will update as I can.

p.s. - my spell check isn't working correctly, so now you get to see how poorly I spell without help!