the first non tense thursday

Today is the first Thursday I haven't been tense on since I can remember.

16 weeks ago I was scared and massively apprehensive. I was about to go through chemo treatment for the first time. I had hair. I had muscle. I had cancer.

I could barely sleep the night before - I finally peeled off through exhaustion around 4, having worried myself to oblivion about what would happen to me. I knew I had to do it, I kept telling myself so; but the apprehension of the unknown is a scary thing.

I went through chemo, and felt the sharp pain of the needle, what it was like to be attached to a drip for real, the cold fluidic cytotoxic drugs slowly seeping into my veins; even now, it makes me shudder. I tasted horrendous chemicals at the back of my throat. I felt my veins burn at the arms. I felt what it was like to begin to realise and be overwhelmed by a rampant nausea that turned the pit of my stomach - I threw up everywhere after the taxi ride home. I hadn't felt anywhere near as bad since before. All I could do was lay there and hope to fall into a fitful sleep.

I was scarred by what happened.

And so it was that every 2 weeks, on the Thursday before the Friday chemos, I'd begin to go through the motions. I'd leave work, saying my goodbyes, feeling the pit of my stomach start to churn. I'd make a phonecall to my nan to hear her tell me it's be okay - one more down. But I couldn't ever buy it - the apprehension often felt like a great wave crashing over my once-again-reformed self. And at night I didn't sleep well, knowing what was to come.

And it would be the same. I would have good days, and bad ones. But it was always the same. Less throwing up, though.

I can't believe I did that 8 times. I still can't, if I really think about it. It was so hard, and I found a strength within me I never realised was there. Everything I've been through doesn't feel like anything compared to it. I was so lucky to be in remission so quick. I'm lucky that I don't have much treatment left.

If I could tell myself from that time anything, I wouldn't know. You know why? Because nothing I could have said would have prepared me, or softened the blow. It was a path to be taken alone: with supporters by the wayside, massively appreciated, but alone.

Maybe I would say you'll make it. Time marches on; tempus edax rerum, time; the devourer of all things. I'd get to the end, it'd just be a slog. A big, nihilistic trudge. But you'll get there. There's no rhyme or reason to it - nor, indeed, to anything associated with cancer. But you'll get there.

In sum: I'm looking forward to not going to chemo tomorrow. Instead, I'll enjoy the sunshine.
T