One Down, Five to Go.

My first chemo treatment was yesterday. It’s been an interesting couple of weeks, trying to get my head wrapped around the idea that I, in fact, do have cancer. I’m sure everyone goes through their own version of the mental tantrum that seems to happen.

Sometimes, the tantrums are exterior, as well.

I present for you, an autobiographical short story:

The Poor Man and His Dog

I was walking Estes by the trail on the first day of the week that all my treatments began. We have a nice group of the same people that walk with the same dogs at the same time every day. I’ve grown to like and trust their dogs, and so has Estes. It’s like a small-knit little community of dog-lovers. Those that sometimes just prefer to go out alone with their dogs. Estes and I were on our way back, and she was off leash. I want her to get used to coming to me. We saw a man we had seen several times. He has two dogs. She took off running, after I told her not to, and one of his dogs got her down. She started squealing in fear, but it was NOTHING compared to the ravenous noises erupting from my throat. Before I knew what happened, I was screaming down the levy, trying to catch her and kill his dog with my bear hands. Every single bit of tension that I had had since my diagnosis came raining down on man and dog. I exploded into a fit of crying and screaming, a completely crazy lady had descended on the trail in my place. Estes took off running back up the levy and toward home as fast as she could. Me, hot in pursuit. Still screaming and crying. It didn’t occur to me that it may have been me that frightened the poor dog… Why is she still running?? I finally caught up to her when I calm my voice. I picked her up and start into new waves of crying, looking back and the man, in an accusatory way that I just can’t help, and running from him. I gently sat Estes down and was prepared to do some medic work, but she was unscathed. We started walking when hear someone call to me. It was the evil man. I turned to look at him, probably not too nicely…

He said, breathing and startled, “I need to talk to you!”

I said, “What?!” Clearly distraught at the events that had unfolded.

“I’m so sorry, he’s never done that before.”

I burst out crying…again… (Who is this crazy lady?)

He looks at me with a mixture of deep sorrow and horror. He starts babbling quickly and gently, “Is she okay? He’s never, ever done that before. I am so very sorry. Are you all right?”

I finally manage, wetly, due to the snot and tears that have been congregating near my mouth and nose, “She’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m just really emotional right now.” No joke, Sherlock… As in, what the crap just happened? I think I scared my dog more than his did. He certainly seems scared…

I turned and, crying and stroking and speaking to her, head back home. She’s fine. None the worse for wear. Me, I’m a tragic mess.

I came back and woke Lily up, burst out into fresh sobs and say, “Estes is okay!” Poor girl, what must she have thought? I tell her the whole story, with renewed sorrow. It was a pitiful sight.

I cried for about four hours, in total, that day. Poor man. Poor Estes. Poor Lily.

COVID-19 Test

I don’t know if y’all have had the COVID-19 test or not, but I wouldn’t advise it. The nurse was so nice until that happened. She took my blood, and everything was fine. Then she starts getting dressed up in this knight’s suit to administer the test. She jabbed a thingy up my nose as far as it would go, and then rubbed it around. My left eye launched out onto the floor. I told her I had liked her just fine up until that point. My word.

Texas Oncology needs Mickey Mouse Ears

Texas Oncology seems absolutely incredible. It’s like the Disney World of the grown up medical field. Everyone there may as well have on mouse ears. They are all that kind. Right now, no one can accompany me into a place that isn’t easy to go into. Everyone there is fighting for their lives. Everyone is struggling. Everyone got news they didn’t want to hear. I look around the waiting room and wonder what in the world I’m doing there. But, as that does me little good, I don’t dwell on that fact.

I have HER2 positive, invasive ductal carcinoma. Breast cancer. That was never on my radar, like, ever. But, it doesn’t change anything. I have breast cancer.

I had a port placed Wednesday. Then my first chemo treatment Thursday. The nurses there are so very kind. I was never taken any better care of than that third floor. And they do that for everyone. I sat, nervously, by the window, awaiting the poison I never wanted to have. But, they made it as pleasant as it could be. I kept looking at the bags going into my heart and out through my body. Wondering when my cells all start rapidly dividing, what else will go, too. Hair. Nails. Mouth sores. Tastes. Sickness. Now I will start feeling sick. I dread that.

I was there about three hours. Not an unpleasant three hours. I came home, expecting the worst. I still wait for it. About two hours after I got home, my mouth started to taste terrible. I have to drink 64 ounces of water a day. That won’t be a problem. My mouth is so dry and tastes so bad, I’ll gladly push things through it. By supper time, nothing tasted that good to me. I ate anyway, because I know what it’s supposed to taste like.

Day one is done. Let’s see what the next day brings. I pray for it not to make me too sick. I hate being sick at my stomach. I’m taking the nausea medicine just like I’m supposed to.

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And, lastly, a deep, heart-felt THANK YOU.

Thank you all for reading. Thank you all for your prayers. Thank you all for your incredible generosity. I never wanted to be the one on the “Go Fund Me” page. Or the one people are giving to. I always wanted to be the giver. And I will be again. I’ll never forget this time in my life. And I promise you, it will all be paid forward. Y’all are a blessing for me and my family. I love y’all. Thank you.