The day has arrived. It is here. My final chemo. The last day I will ever get pumped full of this poisonous toxic medicine that has been my constant companion since 10/06/20. When I first walked in the unit, I was scared, anxious and tears filled the spaces where my eyes once sat. My bright round green eyes lost their sparkle on 26/05/20 and the prospect and uncertainty of having chemo took another layer of life off them.
I want to look my best today. Wig has been curled, glued on, and I have lost another 1.5 pounds of chemo juice. since Monday so I am pleased to be looking at 10.10.2 rather than 10.13.6. I feel less chubby too which really does feel better.
I leave the house with all of my family in the car – a day trip to the chemo unit!! My Son is videoing my final day of chemo so I’m on show, which feels uncomfortable to be honest. The desire to record this day is fierce within me. This is proof, that I did it – I passed the finishing line and I didn’t let chemo beat me. It may have been a draw. But it didn’t win.
I know I’ve written so much about the harsh realities of having breast cancer and having chemo. I always wanted to tell the truth – to share the bleakness and gory honesty. I think I have done that.
I think you have also seen it passes. I think you have also read you can cope and I have shared so many ways of using your mind to cope better, feel stronger, and believe in your capabilities to manage the side effects of this cruel, brutal treatment.
So, today I have to salute my chemo companion. It’s done its job. It’s shrank my tumour to nothing. My CA125 bloods are back in normal range. As is my tumour marker blood result.
I know with every single remaining cell in my body I am lucky – so lucky – to have this result. All this pain, nausea, anxiety, uncertainty, hair loss, anger, fear and hope have been worth it. I got a good result. Some don’t. It’s hard to celebrate your wins when others don’t get that privilege.
Cancer doesn’t do anything the same to everyone and that fact is one of the worse feeling for me to get inside my head and make sense of. Outcomes and treatments aren’t a given. It’s utter shit.
I arrive on time and you can feel my excitement as I make my way down the corridor, through the double doors FOR THE LAST TIME!! Eyes divert to my bouncy energy and the nurses smile, knowing it is my last treatment. So, joy is in the air. Compliments fly at me for cooing well and I bathe in their support.
Hate the cannula – it takes about 20 seconds to go into my juicy, (and jumpy) vein and I forget to breathe! A light touch on my knee by another nurse helps me relax my rigid body. This is by far the worse part of the treatment for me. The poison is prepared and it’s good to go. Time set at 1 hour and 2 mins. This is going to go by fast – I can feel it. As I write this – I am at 28 minutes left already.
It’s quiet today which is good. I can’t stop peeing, so I’m dragging my drugs with me! It’s the excitement of what is actually happening to me!
Right, I’ll sign off for now. I’m less than 25 minutes away from my last ever chemo treatment. The video says it all x x
I say this with optimism and believe it. You never know what is around the next corner. None of us do. But the power of positive thinking has been my medicine too.
So trust me. I’m never coming back here……
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My last chemo day just got better and better. I came out of the hospital to my family and wedged right in between of them, was my dear dear friend and comrade in all things cancer. She looked amazing – her eyes were shining and her arms and smile ate me up. She has been through chemo herself and knows exactly what this moment feels like. I will never ever forget this for as along as I live. I was beyond happy, that she was here, sharing this moment with me. Thank you. Party poppers, balloons, flowers nd wine – all there – all to help me mark the end of 24 weeks of chemotherapy misery. I am elated and nothing will stop me smiling……
I got to see my other most brilliant chemo friend too today. She was at the hospital for her appointment with the Oncologist. I haven’t seen her since July – but the hugs and the near hour chatter was amazing. She is so strong and has had a lot to contend with. I adore her.
The drive home was fun, a car full of relief swirled amongst us. I had an overwhelming jolt of release dart up my body – straight through the top of my head. I checked my wig to make sure it hadn’t lifted off!
Home to a house full of cheer – and banners and balloons! The house felt so different to when we last left it. Lighter – hopeful and peaceful. The heavy weight of the chemo had left with us earlier. I took a minute amongst all the noise just to stop, and breathe in this special moment. I took a photograph in my mind to store forever. No more chemo. No more chemo. The enormity of what I was chanting in my now real world, was too big to fully take in. No more chemo. No more chemo.
I was sat down and the TV went on. On the screen in front of me was video clip after video clip of all my close friends and family sending me their warmest wishes and love. No one could be here today as we are in lockdown, but I got something much better. 13 minutes of the most supportive people a woman going through cancer could ask for. I could not stop crying. The finale was my friend -see above – who has no issue with getting out her tits and showing the world what they need to do to check them for cancer! Today though, they played a different role – FUCK CHEMO was written on each one – and as they danced there in her hands – in full technicolour on our 65″ screen – my smile almost cracked my face. What a woman!
This 13 minute video has made going through chemo totally worth it. I loved it, and have never ever felt so loved and cared for in my entire life. My family has come in the shape of friends not parents, and from all areas of my life. Truly blessed right now. This is the happiest I have felt for over 6 months. This is ll that matters right now. These people and these messages.
The champagne was opened, and we smiled and celebrated as a family of five. Five people who love and adore one another – who have been to the ends of the world and back – cried anxious angry tears at what my body had put us through. All sat here on a Wednesday afternoon drinking champagne, then Prosecco. The air was thick with bubbles and banter. We were back. Alive and happy. I took my mind off the future and stayed with the here and now. The moments flowed, as did the alcohol, and nothing in the world mattered anymore. Only this afternoon. We all took the dog for a walk and back to more celebrating in a glass! We made food together, and the phone didn’t stop ringing and beeping – messages and video messages poured in. Tears flowed, happy, hopeful tears and we sat together until the bottles ran dry and the phone battery died.
What a day. What a feeling. What a lucky woman I am.
