Today, I went for my 6th Kadcyla infusion. 8 to go. After getting my port flushed and hooked up, the nurse took me to a room where I would see my oncologist before going in for the infusion.
(By they way, I hope there is some wonderful soul out there finding a way to flavor whatever they use to flush a port. I think it’s a saline rinse? I mean, gag! Absolutely terrible. My secret? Hold my breath and look away. The nurse invariably asks, “Sweetie, are you okay?” I shake my head silently, usually give a thumbs up, because after all, I’m holding my breath and not talking. Then, once I’m convinced the taste is gone or turning blue, which ever comes first, I breathe again. That’s my working method until they come up with a chardonnay flavored rinse!)
My oncologist came in and sat down on a nearby swivel stool. We started chatting about how I’m tolerating the treatment. Thankfully, it’s going oaky so far.
He said something to the effect of, “so, you think we can do this?”
“Absolutely.” I responded. “This, I can definitely do.”
Meaning...1. This is not as bad as we thought it was going to be. 2. It’s way better than the original chemo cocktail I did for 18 weeks earlier this year.”
Our exchange took my mind back to where I was when I found out more treatment was on the horizon. It was sometime in May. I was at work, standing beside my desk, then suddenly sitting in my chair with my head between my legs after my oncologist gave me the news. “42 weeks of treatment?” I remember thinking. “No. There is just absolutely no way I will be able to do this.” Flashes of the difficult road I had just finished merged with the fear of the new, likely difficult unknown road ahead. The hours and days after that phone call were, without a doubt, the hardest part of my journey to date. Even though this new treatment was a really good thing, and something that would drastically reduce my chances of having a recurrence, I couldn’t see past, “42 weeks of treatment.” For me, the thought alone was almost unbearable.
“Yet, here I am...” I thought to myself as I snapped back to present day sitting on the exam table across from my oncologist. “...18 weeks into a treatment plan I felt most confident would be the end of me.”
“This, I can definitely do.”
My oncologist and I finished our appointment. I moseyed on back to the infusion room. Throughout the infusion, I thought about where I am today and where I was in May.
Two things stuck out to me....
1. I find it interesting that the hardest part of my cancer journey was the mental and emotional battle I found myself in the days and weeks following the news about more treatment. It wasn’t a physical difficulty! Seriously. Don’t get me wrong. I have experience more physical pain and discomfort this past year than ever before, but it pales in comparison to the mental and emotional challenges I’ve had to face.
For me, it proves that how we handle what goes on in our life is more important than what actually goes on in our life. Looking back, objectively, I really got myself worked up over something that ended up not being as bad as I thought. A few deep breaths and a little perspective could have saved me ALOT of tears, stress, anger, and despairing thoughts during those weeks. Must remember that going forward.
“Perspective is such a little thing, but it’s the only thing that can dramatically change the results without changing any of the facts.” -Andy Andrews
“It’s not what happens to you....it’s how you handle what happens to you.” - Zig Ziglar
2. Stay in the present. No matter what circumstances we are facing, it’s almost always better to stay in the present. I’m 18 weeks into a treatment cycle that, during those few weeks in May, I would have told you would absolutely be the end of me! Bless it. So glad I was wrong. Don’t let the fear of something down the road cloud your today or steal your joy. “Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:34. Stay in the present.
-Abby
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