#5


o-ren: "you didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?"
beatrix: "you know, for a second there, yeah, i kinda did."

the first few days of EVERY ONE of my nine cycles has been a case study of mismanaged expectations. for the first day or two, like my urologist guessed, it is actually almost like "taking an aspirin". my taste is still around from the end of the break. i have tons of energy. i feel good. my feet feel like running. the world feels like it is, again, my playground.

and during that relative peace time, my imagination gets the best of me. what if this one isn't going to be so bad. what if my feet don't kill me around day 10? what if the waterbabies come, but they don't come and destroy my insides like they did last cycle? what if my energy stays good and true and i don't feel 80 years old by week 3? my imagination plants the seed deep. before i know it, around day 3 or 4? inception. i believe my imagination. i feel confident that this one won't be as bad as that one.

and during EVERY ONE of my nine cycles, i am kicked the testicles by the steel-toed boot of what is real, of what is actually true. by the fact that chemo is a helluva drug.

chemo is designed to do damage. the hope is that it damages the cells the specific therapy targets, but other innocent, good cells are casualties of the war. and as your insides hurt, so do your outsides.

i'd like to believe that my mismanaged expectations are a good thing, a product of my hope in the better, in the hope that "this too shall pass", in the hope that i know i won't always feel this bad. on my worst days, though, i wish i had been more realistic in the beginning of every cycle so i wouldn't be so disappointed at the end.

#5

toxicities present:

all of them.

pain (scaled 1-10):

6