When I started doing my Will I also started a journal. I will admit, I didn't get really far in the journaling - chemo takes over the brain and you don't necessarily think correctly. It was odd - I could work my normal day, albeit at home, but I was focused on the work. As soon as I'd quit for the day it was as if a signal hit my brain and turned it off. You hear people talk about "chemo brain" or "mud brain." You don't want it, but in a sense it was also peaceful to not have my mind turning over thoughts! I wished I had the foresight to ask one of my kids to write for me. If you would talk to me I could keep a conversation, but to think and write somehow there was a disconnect for me.

Going to treatments was something I wanted to do alone. I didn't want anyone sitting there feeling sorry for me. I didn't want anyone to see me cry when they gave me the injection. I don't know whether I could say that it was really THAT much pain, or was it that it hurt my feelings to have it. The Cancer Staff - there simply aren't enough words to use to express my gratitude to them. The most compassionate people I have ever been blessed to be with - we worked together through this. We cried together. We laughed together. We held hands sometimes and said nothing at all, but sigh, and it was understood that this really sucked. (sorry Dad, there really isn't another word I can think of) At the end of it all, I wouldn't trade those people and I miss them...don't want to go back and do it all over again, but I miss them.

You think about phrases like "death warmed over" as you're laying back in your chair getting your infusion. Ah...you are a lucky one, you're on the good chemo. You're not going to lose your hair. And you look over and you see someone with ashened skin, and you KNOW. And the next week, you all come together again and do it all over again, and you look to make sure that person is there, and they're not. And you KNOW. And you think. And you cry inside, and hope that your eyes aren't letting go of the tears. You hope that you can smile when someone looks your way. It was always odd how my volunteer lady would come up just when I needed her the most and ask if she could get me anything. Just the touch of her hand on my arm, feeling her warmth; feeling her love.

It took me a long time before I would look UP when I entered the Cancer Center. If you look up, you see people. And they are there for the same thing you are. And there is always a FULL room. You go into the bathroom - and look in the mirror and you see what THEY see. Ah, you're looking rather pathetic, even if you do have hair. And then someonen comes into the bathroom and sees your reflection and says, "Can I give you a hug? I just want you to know that it wasn't that long ago I was YOU...and you will get better." And you cry together. No one was ashamed to have tears and no one judged you either.

I'm 4 years down the road and you know what? I still cry. It still hurts. It was yesterday. I feel my mediport scar and I stop and catch my breath...it's still there. I want someone to tell me that next year I won't feel this way.