This is me…
Drinking a glass of Prosecco that I can’t taste because chemotherapy has obliterated my taste buds. Again.
Wearing my (favourite!) wig because the chemo has made my hair fall out.
Ignoring my gurgling, upset tummy caused by the toxic drugs in my system.
Pretending I’m not desperately tired after waking up at stupid o’clock this morning worrying about things I cannot change.
Wearing a shirt I manged to rip removing my clothes (again!) for an ultrasound scan this morning.
Having lunch with my husband at our local, both fighting back the tears.
Because the awful poison that has been pumping through my body for the last 7 weeks, often leaving a trail of destruction in its wake, is working. And not just working – it’s working well. Today’s ultrasound on my breast showed nothing. Literally. The tumour that was growing so quickly just a few weeks ago is no more. The marker clip they inserted into the lump is now a lonely reminder of what went before. The concoction of chemicals has worked its magic. Lymph nodes, always slower to respond, are currently still affected – but really this is the best news we could have hoped for at this stage. Better than we dared hope for.
So Chemo drugs, you can take my taste buds, you can take every hair on my body, you can send me running to the loo countless times a day with little notice, you can keep me awake for nights on end, you can make me feel queasy, you can take my energy. In fact you can throw whatever you like at me and I will welcome every single awful side effect with open arms.
It’s working. It’s worth it.