I have had so much chemo at this point that I think my pee is radioactive. The toilet has started glowing in the dark.
Actually, chemo is a lot like the T-Rex in the Jurassic Park movie. If you recall, the T-Rex couldn’t detect its prey unless the prey moved – and then the T-Rex chomped. Well, chemotherapy drugs hunt and destroy cells that “move” by changing rapidly. Conveniently, that includes cancer cells and tumors. Inconveniently, it also includes normal healthy cells that are merely going about their business of growing, healing, or replicating. You gotta feel for those little guys. There they are, jaunting down the protoplasm path all happy that they’re doing great work, and then out of nowhere: Chomped by Chemo-Rex!
Apparently, red blood cells are particularly chompable. In any event, my veins were a couple of quarts low again, and my energy level has been right down there with a comatose armadillo. So yesterday the medical team topped me up with a nice transfusion. This time, I got smart, though. I asked for the blood of a triathlete, or at least a really good home cook. We shall see.
But lo and behold, here we are at the end of primary treatment for Stage IV ovarian cancer. Next week there will be test results and a medical team meeting that will determine my future, or (forgive the gallows humor) lack thereof. It has now been seven months of dense-dose chemotherapy, interspersed with an additional month’s worth of surgery and other random procedures. Without that treatment, my number would have been up before Christmas, so I am sincerely grateful for every minute of it.
However, I don’t mind telling you that the redhead and I are on pins and needles, hoping for encouraging news next week.
And speaking of hope, I hope you are enjoying these first days of spring. Bluebonnet Season is always my favorite time of year.