Letter to Chemo

MONDAY, JUNE 20, 2011 8:33 PM, EDT

Letter to Chemo

Dear Chemo,

We met Wednesday. I was the comfortably dressed patient in Room 15. My Mama was with me - she's kind of a rock star. I get my strength from her, and from the other estrogen-clad ladies who share my blood. We are strong. We came into Room 15, laughing that we were moving in. I pulled from my bag of tricks an ornate gold picture frame that holds my Caring Bridge profile pic - a portrait of my family that was taken two short weeks before I met you. A time that we will forever refer to as, "before cancer." The picture hosts honest smiles and happiness that cannot be unbroken. It is my focal point for treatment. It is my life...in a photograph.

Our meeting was short, chemo...shorter than I expected. You did not wear me out right away like I anticipated. I told Mama that if I feel that good after our next meeting, I am going to work afterwards. And this is what I plan to do, God willing.  Thursday, Friday and Saturday passed without event. Steroids kept me strong and hungry - who needs a Sugar Free Red Bull when there are steroids?! The nausea was manageable, certainly reminiscent of the 35 weeks of nausea that I had while pregnant with Parker...oh, and heartburn. I thought when I decided never to get pregnant again, I had seen the last of you, but somehow you sneaked back into my life. And yet, all of these things manageable. Is it possible that I could be one of those people who gets through all of this and thinks, "Cancer? Yeah, that wasn't so bad."

And then came Sunday. Now Chemo, let's have a little heart to heart. I am of the mind that there are two things you don't mess with - people's money and people's children. You, my dear friend, have crossed the line. You are taking away days at work, and therefore you are dipping into my vacation fund. For all intents and purposes, I'll forgive this offense. But you have stolen 24 precious hours from me that I cannot get back...hours that I otherwise would have been able to spend with my beautiful boys. I will charge you for those hours, and I will be ready to collect with surmountable interest when all of this is said and done. You rendered me useless while my 5 1/2 month old rolled over and over again on the floor, laughing. You did not allow me to pick my head off the pillow when my 2 1/2 year old told me that he loved me "better than the whole world."  What's that you say? I see and hear these things every day, so what is all the fuss about? These moments just every day life - but that every day life is more precious to me now than when I took that family photograph a month ago...and every minute counts. How dare you put a price on every day life? 

So this is what we're going to do, Chemo. We're going to make a deal. You get 7, count them, 7 more of these days over the next 15 weeks...and not a minute more. Enjoy them for all they are worth. Because to me, they are worth all the days to follow...days of laughter, baseball games, sunshine, hugs, "I love yous" and everyday life...and you don't want to mess with that.

Sincerely,

Bean

P.S. I wasn't really a fan of Monday, either.