12 Down, Zero to Go!

When I first found out I needed chemo I was scared but curious. Brad remembers that one of the first things I said was “well, at least now I’ll know what chemo is like. I’ve always kind of wondered.”

I suppose that is one way to look at it.

I didn’t know then what was ahead of me or how my body would tolerate treatment. I wondered what would be worse, my imagination of it all, or the actuality of it all.

Now I know.

It was both.

Like most things, having cancer is quite a mind fuck. There is a lot to contemplate, worry about, and decide. And there’s a lot of time spent trying NOT to worry (until or unless you have something to worry about).

There are some gut-wrenching moments (or days or even weeks) of waiting, which were excruciating (or fine), depending on my mood and my headspace.

One thing is for sure: fighting death is really good practice for life.

I can say that chemo itself was both better than I thought and way worse.

I never imagined I would have so much fun at chemo or that the special time on Thursdays with someone I love would feed me as it did.

But I also could not have imagined the physical and emotional roller coaster that was (and still is — for just a couple more days) chemo.

For me, chemo went from this is kind of fun (or at a minimum not so bad) to feeling like downright hell and needing to deal with life 10 seconds at a time. That transition happened at about week 8.

But, this week marks the LAST post-chemo-crash I’m going to have!!!! Yes, I was curious but now I can confidently say I DO NOT EVER NEED TO DO THAT AGAIN.

I cannot even tell you how relieved I am that it’s over.

I’m in the thick of the chemo crash now…up at 4 am unable to sleep, feeling sick and overwhelmed, grumpy and restless. But I know this feeling well enough to almost time it down to the minute when it will dissipate….Wednesday afternoon at approximately 2:52pm-ish.

The physical and emotional effects of the meds are just brutal. The mental fog is real. And to top it off, this past Sunday I found myself walking around the isles of Safeway crying.

Why not just stay home and cry?

Excellent question.

I woke up feeling very emotional. Part relief. Part gratitude. Part utter exhaustion and just wanting to feel better (consistently). I walked through the neighborhood with Brad like a leaking faucet until it finally seemed like I had vented and cried all the tears I had in me.

Then, we took Adi to her booster appointment at Safeway, and as she walked into the back with Brad to get her shot I was hit with the most intense wave of nostalgia and gratitude for those two cutie pies.

All it took was the sight of Brad’s arm around Adi’s shoulder, as he calmed her for her shot, and I turned into a Weeping Willow right there in Safeway.

I could not stop crying. And if you know our local Safeway it’s pretty much impossible not to run into someone you know. So yes, that happened.

Bald and balling…I’m sure that was a great look for me.

Later that day Brad‘s parents came for a visit. It was lovely to see them but I wasn’t feeling great. By the time they left, I was feeling even worse. Sundays are rough but I really wanted to celebrate the end of chemo with them so I pushed through. As they were collecting their things to head home, I looked around my messy house and heard Brad's repeated denial of his parents' offers to help clean up the kitchen (no mom, I got it). What kindness. Kind parents. Kind Brad.

And….

I suddenly felt this deep angst and impatience that manifested in the urge to purge. At that moment, had there been a dump truck within eyeshot, I would have single handily emptied the contents of my house into it, starting with all of the spare Tupperware piled up in the corner of my kitchen (from all of the other kind people in our life — aka. our love army).

Instead, I began feverishly loading a bag full of “stuff” that I no longer wanted to look at and sent it out the door with Brads parents (with an ask to bring it to Goodwill). Brad had to cut me off because I was about to not only pack that bag full but start a second one. He was looking at me like I’d lost my mind. I took the hint (Kind of. Kind of not.)

Side note: I do not mean to sound ungrateful. I am SO grateful. This is simply me describing my momentary tantrum.

Truth be told, Brad and the kids have been known to call me Mt. Saint Mitchie from time to time, when I fly off the handle about clutter. It doesn’t happen too often but when it does, I’ll admit, it’s a little bit like an eruption.

Add steroids to the mix, and it feels a little bit like someone loaded my angst tank with 80 gallons of high-grade gasoline.

One thing I’m really going to miss about chemo is the all-too-convenient excuse to be an asshole.

Must be those steroids!

Written by: Mitch Shepard

Mitch Shepard is an Applied Behavioral Scientist, the CEO of HUMiN, a trusted adviser & coach to global leaders, a mother of two awesome kids, a wife, a passionate world traveler, a dog lover, and an ass-kicker of cancer!