After thinking long and, if not hard, at least in discomfort, I decided that I would stop chemo. I had lost me, who I am, my values, my beliefs, everything that is me, lost in this sticky bubble of poison, chemicals, drugs and medical “treatment” based on statistics. Statistics!
Not based on me, my body, who I am, just some random same weight, same height, same symptoms body.
Living in this horror, exhausted and lonely, I felt that I rather just live for whatever time, or if I would die that would be better, because I don’t know how I can stand this three times more, those times with even more severe side effects.
Telling my son about my decision, of course, went horribly, which I kind of all ready knew it would. Adding to his worries, his fears about me being sick, not making it and so on.
Talking, discussing, arguing, trying to get my stand across and at the same time hoping that my doubts wouldn’t show, trying to convince him that I would be ok without this severe treatment plan.
I hate saying that life is hard but sometimes it just is so f-ing impossible, unforgiving, sad and without even a a glimpse of a clear path that might lead to something good.
Anyway, after a night of doubt, fear and worry, both awake and in nightmares, I decided that I will continue.
It’s too hard to do this to Lucas. I’m as scared to tell my brother and a few of my friends who I know would disagree.
That difficulty adds to me doubting myself and loose trust in my ability to heal myself.
Feeling a bit better this morning, I cried myself through the dog walk, through coffee and a shower and out the door to meet with my nurse.
I’ve survived, taken myself to the other side of, an abusive relationship, breast cancer twice before, being a single mother where the father has been absent, up and down financial situations and the latest before this, a psychopath for a boss, so I suppose not even chemo will beat me, after all.