The end of chemo is a glorious time. It’s like finally reaching the mountain summit and all the muscle pain, strain and sore feet from climbing fades away. A year ago, April 30, 2020 was that day.
The process to get to the end was wretched. The deep body sickness affected my psyche, with a dive into a dark abyss of fear and misery. It was like having the flu for months on end. Even just four session seemed impossible to endure. End time felt worse and took longer to recover from. Just barely functioning was difficult.
The side effects were numerous. Hair loss, mouth sores, loss of appetite, nausea, weakness, extreme fatigue, gum pain, dehydration, eye inflammation, anxiety, high blood pressure, depression, neuropathy, rashes, brain fog, constipation, diarrhea, abdominal pain, among others.
It’s no wonder that I felt like dancing out the infusion room when the last drops of poison dripped from the I.V. bag. I would feel bad afterwards for weeks, but the healing process could begin. Hope shined in. It felt glorious.
I haven’t been back since to the four story building where I had the infusions, but passing the exit on the freeway reminds me of the experience and I inwardly shudder. It’s my Tower of Terror. The thought of even setting foot in it again brings up the memory of all the countless hours sitting alone in a chair watching the I.V. tube of death dripping into my vein. When the bag emptied, my heart raced and an overwhelming sense of panic set in.
It’s strange how the brain works. The sight or smell of something dredges up a long forgotten memory, like the scent of pine evokes Christmas or an old school building reminds an adult of roaming grade school hallways. Just the thought of chemo brings out a deep revulsion and a flight response. I want to get away from any hint of it. Maybe that’s why chemical odors bother me so much, with the unconscious association
Luckily, I haven’t had to set foot in the infusion building since last August. I don’t even like being on the same street or even in the same area.
It’s taken a lot work to beat back the mental trauma of chemo. Hormone blocker pills worked against recovery. It took a lot of Zoom support groups, doctor visits, tons of supplements, lectures, reading, therapy and tests to get to a place of healing. I still can’t sleep, have hot flashes, back, neck and hand pain mixed with bouts of depression and anxiety from the pill. It’s a struggle to live with it and it’s tempting to quit and take my chances with cancer recurrence.
Still anything is better than chemo. Hopefully, time and therapy will cure the cure. Hopeless thoughts aren’t reality and the mind gives them more weigh than they deserve.
Maybe remembering the exhilaration of finishing instead of all the grueling discomfort to get there will diminish the weight of bad memories.
