I’m done with you. Sixteen rounds of dreadful, harmful, harsh medicines pumped into my body through a port in my chest. Sixteen rounds of life saving, energy sucking, emotional roller coaster inducing medicine to save my life. While saving my life, you took so much from me. You took (hopefully) my cancer. I’ll know more about that after surgery in August. But no one can feel it anymore so you did your job.
But you also took things from me that mattered so much to me. You took my hair. My red hair. My actual identity. You took my energy. You took my confidence; my confidence as a woman, my confidence as a mother. You took away my ability to handle my own anxiety. My skin has changed. My taste changed. My eyebrows are only half there. And now your final blow. The one side effect I was most afraid of…my eyelashes. My favorite feature. They get more sparse every single day and soon, they’ll be gone.
I’m done with you, Chemo. Yet you’re still taking things from me. You threw me into complete menopause at age 32. I’m moody. I’m irritable. And the hot flashes in the middle of July? That’s a cruel joke.
So while I wait for you to detox from my body and learn some patience as all the things I miss start to come back, I’m anxious about my next step. Surgery. I guess anxious is an understatement. What’s a worse feeling than anxious? Terror? Horror? Because that’s what I feel. I’m terrified.
I’m not me right now. I’ve never felt less like me in my entire life and it’s SO hard. I want it all back; my hair, my confidence, my life before. This life after you, Chemo, is draining and scary. I’m struggling to find a comfortable new me. I know she’s in here somewhere.
So thanks, Chemo. For helping me live. I’m not sad to see you go.
xo – Me
Warming Up 