Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Monday morning, I found myself sitting in the ubiquitous chemo-Barca lounger. "How did I get here?", I thought to myself.  I had sworn after my first dance with chemo that I would never do this again, yet here I was, doing this again.  The pre-treatment with steroids was giving me a serious headache; I felt like that cartoon where you see someone's head blow off the top. 

I was fortunate to be able to sleep through the majority of my treatment.  When I woke up, the nice woman sitting next to me had left, replaced by yet another unfortunate member of the "Cancer Club."

Chemotherapy defies all logic.  We try to avoid toxins in our lives, whether it's the air we breathe, the food we eat, but when cancer comes knocking, we willingly allow ourselves to be plugged into the ultimate poisonous substances--chemotherapy.  We put up with all sorts of side effects that would otherwise be considered intolerable, all in the hope to beat back the Beast.

The will to live is so strong.  It's amazing what we cancer patients will accept in an effort to grab that brass ring of health.

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