Last night my brother sent me a text wishing me luck. He wrote, “I’m surprised it wants it’s ass kicked again.”
Made me laugh.
I actually laughed a lot yesterday. I watched the new reboot of Roseanne, and was surprised. She even has the same pill box I do. I laughed out loud at some parts. It was real. And as hard and crazy and surreal life can be, if you keep your sense of humor, you’ll make it through.
I had a house full of kids. Maddie had a bunch of kids, and I had a bunch of cousins over for the other two. At one point I had two tables full of games being played, no technology, kids laughing, and I kept thinking how surreal it was that all the time I’m waiting for a call to let me know that I can go to the hospital in 24 hours and begin a new trial to save my life.
Rob called me and told me I was starting the trial while I was sitting with all the kids, and I had to keep my poker face and not cry.
Then I quickly texted my family, rob came home, and I went to reflexology with Danielle.
Talk about perfect timing.
When we finished, she said I felt good. And I did.
I told her that if they can find what will work and cure cancer from me, then everything I’ve been through will have been worth it.
I came home, fed fifteen kids, and kept playing.
Then everyone left, and I went to bed.
I’m up now, about to get ready.
I am grateful my oncologist is coming in on her day when she doesn’t see patients to start me. This way I have today and tomorrow to deal with side effects, if any.
I’ve tried my best to be nonchalant about the two big needles that will get injected into my ass, and slowly push the medicine in for about ninety seconds. But there’s nothing fun about pain.
I’ll sign more paperwork, and then get either the drugs or the placebo. Even my oncologist won’t know. I’ve felt like the tumor may be shrinking on its own, and hope that when my doctor feels it, she feels the same. Size matters, but as my friend Leila wrote to me, it’s not so much the cancer we can feel, it’s the cancer we can’t feel and monitor that’s scary. But she said maybe we are meant to be the pioneers, the first women who become the lifelong thrivers, the chronic condition patients who, although always in treatment, are alive and living and getting to see grandchildren someday.
I’ll take it.
So today, I become the very first patient at the hospital in this trial. Phase two of the trial.
My second line of treatment.
Starting on the third, the third day after Easter.
I’m declaring remission by June.
I did it in five months the first time, I’ll do it in three months this time.
May it be so.
In Jesus’s name, amen.