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So close but no cigar

10:03am. June 30th 2014.

How I’m feeling: I’m kind of down but I’m OK. I’m writing this post to distract myself for as long as possible. Lately, the thought of chemo and the hospital has started to make me slightly nauseated.

I’m here at PMH waiting to get blood work done before I head upstairs to the 4th floor for chemo daycare. Today is my 6th chemo session and according to the original treatment plan, it was supposed to be my last. As you may be able to imagine, I have been counting down to this date since March until I found out a couple days ago that today will in fact not be my last chemo session…

I’m scheduled for a 7th chemo session – and a tentative 8th depending on how sexy some scans I will be getting on the 18th look like. Which means I don’t get to ring the “Bravery Bell” today 😦 I want to so so bad. I think about it every day.


I really don’t know if I can take another chemotherapy session – but I guess I will have to. I know that my oncologist can’t jump the gun until he is confident that this cancerous mass is 100% gone, but I just wish I knew more about the progress of this unwelcomed mass that’s hanging out inside of me right next to my heart and lungs. It’s tough to constantly experience the dark side of chemotherapy and not experience/hear enough about of the upsides of my treatment. You have no idea how tough it is.

When people (other than my oncologist) say to me that I’m getting better, how do they know? The answer is that they don’t – really. It’s wishful and positive thinking (which helps and is appreciated) but I’d like some real hope. While I can now breathe and no longer feel a sense of something (still trying to describe in words how I felt. It wasn’t quite “fear”) whenever the sun would go down because I wasn’t sure if I’d wake up the next day (my airway was getting THAT bad) – I would love to hear that this cancer has F%$#ed off. I’d love to hear from my oncologist that my mass is shrinking like crazy. I want him to give me a freakin’ congratulatory mid-air high five.

While I’m not done treatment after chemotherapy (I still have radiation afterwards) – apparently chemotherapy is the hardest part. And oh…I believe it. It’s kind of nice to know that I’m going through the hard part now – and yet I (sometimes) still feel like a F&%$ing warrior. I’ve got enough physical, mental and emotional indications and battle wounds to prove it.

3 replies »

  1. Hey Carolyn,
    Is your oncologist allowed to give you status updates about the size of the mass, or are they supposed to wait until you’re undoubtedly in the clear, to avoid, as you said, “jumping the gun”?
    On another note, I think of you often and am sending positive vibes and love your way. You are really something special. 🙂

  2. Hang in there babe. I wish I knew how it felt and I know that I don’t but I think about you all the time. Allow yourself to feel whatever you want to, whenever you want to – you deserve that. I’ll come see you when I’m back – miss you – love you.

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