Countdown

Tomorrow begins the countdown to chemo. As I was preparing to head to bed tonight, I noticed a shift in my thinking, and realized that it had gradually been coming over me all day. I like to claim that I don't dread my chemo. I mean, it's not that bad really. My stomach gets a little upset. Food doesn't taste good for a few days. I sleep for a few days, get sores in my mouth, and have blanks in my memories for a couple days (from the ativan they have me take I think). Honestly, though, it really isn't that bad. Yet I sit here with tears streaming down my face as I type because I don't want to go! I just feel so out of control when chemo time rolls around. I try SO hard to stay positive, to look at the bright side of things, but when this time comes around again, I can't help but become overwhelmed by the anxiety. Most of the time it transfers to Church in the Park anxiety. It's funny, in a "not really all that funny" kind of way. Perhaps interesting is a better word. It's interesting that as chemo time approaches, the urge to return to the park becomes overwhelming. The urge to prove that I control my life and no one else does. The thing is, though, I don't. God does. I answer to Him and I know He doesn't want me there right now. I also know that it's not really the park I want. It's to be free of the cancer, and the chemo and to put this challenging chapter of my life behind me.
I know I am privileged to have access to this treatment. I know it is a blessing to have this diagnosis now rather than twenty or thirty years ago. I know this cancer is healing my emotional wounds. I know that I don't have to be strong, that I can sleep when need be and that everything will be taken care of by Jason, my mom, and the many others who are pitching in. I know my husband loves me and will continue to love me no matter how sick I am. I know every day is a good day, and some days are great, but the fact of the matter is this good day is hard. This good day is full of tears, and chemo isn't all that peachy. It's hard. It's brutal really, and I'm tired of being strong. I want to scream to the world: "I can't do this anymore!!! I don't want to lose a week of my life to medicated sleep. I don't want to miss out on a week of my kids' life. I don't want to watch my husband work himself into the ground, handling work, and then everything else while I lay in bed and watch tv or sleep. I DON'T WANT TO!!"
And now that I've had my little temper tantrum, I will order my medications, arrange the necessary childcare, and put all the other pieces in order. Then I will get up on Wednesday morning, put on my makeup, gather up my things and go get my treatment with a smile on my face because, after all, I'm alive, I'm loved, and soon, my treatment will be over. My hair will grow back and life will continue on its merry way.