"It's temporary", they said.
"The worst part is over in 18 weeks", they said.
"Herceptin doesn't have any side effects", they said.
"Oh hell, I can stand on my head for a year - let's do it", I said.
They didn't tell me that the chemo would damage the nerves in my feet so badly that I would never be able to fully enjoy a long walk ever again.
They didn't mention that the chemo would damage the connective tissues in my joints so badly that I would forever be in some degree of constant pain or discomfort.
They outright lied to me when they said the "brain fog" that keeps me from concentrating on my work, or remembering simple things like why I walked into a room, would get better after the chemo stopped.
They promised my hair would grow back, but they forgot to mention that my fingernails would be so soft they would routinely tear off, or that my skin would forever be so dry that it cracks and bleeds.
But I'm alive. So that's something, right?
I'm not sure if this will get better. The oncologist tells me his job is to kill the cancer, which he did, and these are issues for my PCM. My PCM looks at me with fear, writes a bunch of useless referrals, and hopes my oncologist will fix what he broke with his poison. And I dig deep, trying to find a way to grit through the pain, to focus through the fog, all while keeping a positive attitude and fighting spirit.
But, I am tired. Tired of the pain. Tired of medical appointments. Tired of being out of shape. Tired of being constantly tired. The whole #alive thing only gets me so far.
Oh, and did I mention that the Army no longer wants me in its ranks (despite selecting me for promotion to MAJ) because I'm simply not fit enough to deploy again. Or run a PT test. Or stay awake at my desk.
Luckily, I have Doug in my corner. Not once has he ever suggested that I should just "fight through it" or "put mind over matter". Not once has he complained when I had to cancel plans, or spend half my day sleeping. I know how lucky I am to have a partner who accepts the new me, and loves me (and my newly acquired "muffin top") despite the fact that I'm not the same person he married.
This is reality. Cancer doesn't get "cured". I'm not "healed". Just because the hair on my head (but not my eyebrows or eyelashes) has grown back doesn't mean I'm back to normal. My joints hurt. My feet burn. My scars shoot lightning bolts into my armpits. I can't remember your name. This is the new normal. This is the reality of cancer.
#alive #reality #fuckcancer
