#TMIFiles: The End of Chemo, Part 1 in These Foolish Things

What a week it’s been…and it’s only Wednesday. Actually, I wanted to write an entry about my last week of chemo, number twelve, which was last week - a week ago, exactly. It truly was an incredible week - and I want to write it all down while the memory is still fresh.

I didn’t mean to leave you hanging after the last entry, but I spent the rest of the week and weekend in rest and recovery mode, which took all of my focus and energy. It was a good, quiet weekend, even with a visit from my brother and his family and seeing the Donut Cowboy (haha…stories unto themselves!).

So…the last chemo.

Mom and Dad wanted to come and stay with me for a couple of nights so that they could be there when I rang the bell. And I knew that Maria would be there since she volunteered to drive me to and from chemo for the rest of treatment. So my thought was to have the tiniest of parties with Mom, Dad and Maria. We could do a little lunch and then come back to my place for cake. That was the plan.

I have a friend who makes stunning cakes and desserts - the kind you see on Instagram and in magazines. I knew when I first started chemo that when I was done I wanted her to make a cake for me. And I wanted her to make treats for the oncology nurses. So I ordered a big ol’ No More Chemo cake and told her that I’d love champagne flavor with a celebratory theme and that the rest I’d leave up to her artistic talents. And I also wanted boxes of macarons and chocolate covered strawberries for the nurses and my NP whom I’d be seeing on my last infusion day.

So Mom and Dad arrived on Tuesday afternoon before I got home from work - they had the code to get into my place, and before I even got home, Dad called me to tell me that the fire alarm was going off and everyone had to exit the building! When I got home from work, there were - no joke - something like 30 firetrucks in front of the building and everyone in the building was outside! Thank goodness I’d sent my dog to stay with my friend from work who watches her during my treatments and Mom and Dad had boarded their dog for a couple of nights. We ended up leaving and going to dinner. Which was actually a nice quick change of plans.

Turns out, the building actually was on fire - there was a kitchen fire in a unit that wasn’t close to mine (thankfully!). It took a couple of hours before residents were allowed back in the building.

The only reason I’m writing all of this down is because of what my mom said to me when I got home from work to a burning building. She said…and I quote, “I’m beginning to think you’re bad luck!”

Um.

Fuck you very much?

I mean, what the hell kind of thing to say to your daughter who’s completely stressed about her last chemo treatment and what’s going to happen to her life WHILE her building is currently burning?

I have been analyzing the shit out of that one, but the bottom line is, that hurt my feelings. And I lashed back at her, saying that maybe SHE is the bad luck.

Hmmmrfff..

But dinner was lovely and we got back to the Treehouse just fine and the cake and goodies were delivered exactly as planned and all was well.

Wednesday morning came and I had my usual pre-chemo ritual of getting up, going for my walk, packing my icing bag with ice gloves, socks, frozen water bottles, etc. And then taking my Valium.

Ugh. Gotta chop this story up into bite-sized pieces because work stuff calls, but I’ll be back with more!

Stay tuned!
GS