Son of Last Day

Or Not So Happy but Really, Really Last Day.

I didn't want to get chemo today in the worst way. I dreaded it, I hated it, I just couldn't swallow my loathing and frustration. All weekend long, even throughout my crazy car purchase, I thought about calling to cancel my appointment. But I managed to drag my ass back to the infusatorium and put myself through it one more time because I'd made a deal with my brain and heart: after today, I'm done with chemo. I don't care what the oncologist says and I don't care what the numbers say, I've had enough. I could go on getting more chemo, higher doses, different drugs, forever... and it would just be diminishing my quality of life for whatever time I have left.

I'll continue to get Zometa. And I'm still going to get an MRI this week and meet with the surgeon next week. I know how I feel and I need to have an honest discussion with the surgeon (or the oncologist, or both) about the likely progression of this disease. I'm still hopeful that some of my back problems are fixable; a little less optimistic about my aching hips, leg cramps, and rib "hot spots." But all I'm looking for is the truth, as best as they can tell it to me. Enough with the happy talk.

I'm taking this stand, putting myself in the driver's seat and making decisions I believe are best for me, even if it conflicts with what my doctor wants. It's not amazing that I'm doing it now; what's amazing is that I haven't done so for 18 months. My brain and heart are doing little cartwheels. I have been waiting to die for almost two years, and it's time to start living instead.