I don’t feel like getting chemo today. That’s different from wanting to get chemo. I want that chemo round because I want to continue the assault on cancer in my body. But do I feel like being pushed under the surface again for 7 days while I fight through the onslaught of chemicals and toxins in my body? No, I really don’t.
I started to feel the anxiety rise last night after friends left family dinner. I was enjoying that period of time in between cycles where I get to live a mostly normal life and do normal activities like pay attention to things other than cancer and physical suffering. It truly is bliss. But with a chemo infusion on the horizon I feel like one of those old westerns where a woman is tied to the train tracks. I can hear the whistle blowing in the distance and I know that train is coming for me. Unlike the westerns, however, I know I won’t be rescued at the last moment. That train is coming and it’s going to hit me and it’s going to be misery. So what can I do? What can anyone do when they are facing thousands of pounds of pain and suffering barreling down the tracks at them?
My strategy today is to simply be bigger than that train. I’m not drawing on peace. I’m not drawing on serenity. I’m drawing on shear grit. I want to cripple that train when it hits me. So this is my message to cancer today:
It’s nothing fancy. It’s nothing particularly sophisticated. It’s simply willing myself to live, to survive, to fight. That train is so close I can feel the shaking earth and the thunderous sound. I am anchoring myself against it, bracing for impact.
So do your worst, chemo. I am ready.
Give em’ hell.
P.S. Thank you, Larry, for capturing another amazing image. Your work is outstanding and I am so glad to walk this path with you beside me.