Gracias a Dios

I feel like I'm wobbling on the precipice of a balance beam. Just before chemo, perhaps a couple of days, and especially as I sit here waiting to go back to Chair 12, I have great anxiety. Will I fall onto the soft blue mat and sustain relatively few side effects after chemo, or will I tumble to the hard wood floor, and feel pain and discomfort for the next two weeks, until I am poisioned again. That is the anxiety, the worry. It is, though, only a balance beam. Not a cliff. I might get hurt, but I won't die.

The good news is that the doctor said I'm doing great. When I recount my side effects, they are few. "Do you have severe sensitivity in your fingers or hands?" Nope, I'm cold sensitive for a few days after chemo and I've noticed my fingers peel some. "Are you nauseated?" Yes, but not severely; a burp might produce a little something, but I have never projectile vomited. "Do you have an appetitite?" Not really, but I take care to eat, and I love sweets. I've noticed that some ginger tea that came in a Get Well basket given to me by Mary and Anantha helps stimulate my appetitite.

I'm watching a thin, frail, bald woman walk toward the exit, using a cane, just finished with chemo. That is not me. Thank God. How did I get so lucky. I have hair, and though I am thinner (an acceptable weight at last for an aging, menopausal woman), I'm not frail. Still working out, though I've decreased my weights, some.

I asked my doctor if I still have cancer, and he said No. But I should think of the chemo as extra insurance, a precaution against getting cancer again. Or getting it in another place. And so I will consider myself cancer free. With another four months of precaution coming my way. That is not a severe burden to bear. Considering what others within my eyesight are going through.

Gracias a Dios.