=)

…4, 3, 2, 1 – DONE!

Yeeesss sir, all of my chemo treatments are complete. I’ve finished up the last one this past week and even though the skin is peeling off of my lips and tongue as I type this, it feels great.

It’s been almost a year since my diagnosis (April 13 – Friday, the 13th…) and some people say to me “wow, can you believe it’s over already? this past year flew!” but for the first time I can say no, no the year did not fly by and yes I can believe that just about 365 days have passed. This year resembled tortoise speed and I couldn’t be happier that treatments are over.

A lot of people ask me what it feels like to get chemotherapy and the best way I’ve ever heard it put to words was by Melissa Etheridge (breast cancer survivor). She said it is like bringing your body as close to death as possible and then bringing it back to life, repeatedly. I feel like I’ve died and resurrected thirty times over, but at the same time – I’ve never felt more alive.

I can’t really say that this experience taught me a huge lesson in life and that now I won’t take everything for granted because I don’t really feel like I was ever a person who took things for granted. I’ve always appreciated the little things in life and the people in it. I am not sure why cancer happens and how certain people are selected to experience it but all I know is that it is unfair and really just another test in life.

I feel bad when people around me feel afraid to complain about a headache or something that they feel is tragic going on in their life. They immediately apologize to me and say that they know it is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. I don’t want my experience to trivialize anything that anyone is going through. Every one has their battles and this was mine. Maybe life’s way of evening things out is just by giving you more headaches than me ;)

Leaving the hospital was a mix of emotions. I wanted to throw the chemotherapy pole through the window and also hug every family and doctor that I’ve met during the past year. As thrilled as I am to be done, I really will miss certain things about going to that place…

Will not miss:
Hearing bad news about patients I’ve become friends with, nausea, the smell of the hospital sheets, daytime television (with the exception of Ellen), the teal blue containers that hospital entrees come in, collecting my pee for testing, seeing new patients’ hair slowly disappear, seeing new patients in general, mothers’ hands shaking, yellow vomit buckets, baby blue latex gloves, finger sticks and children’s band-aids, wheelchairs, cancer, etc. etc.

Will miss:
Seeing the friends we’ve made regularly (Kizzy, Elizabeth), success stories, not having to care about what I look like daily, a slew of favorite doctors and nurses, getting visits from friends and family, the sound of children laughing despite everything, having a lot of time to read books, etc etc.

Wow, I have a lot more “will not miss’s”. I think that’s expected though. Really the thing I will miss the most is all of the friendships I’ve made at that place. Everything that goes on in that place just feels so much more real than anything else. You are seeing families in the raw. Raw emotions, raw skin - raw everything. You have real conversations with people and you know it’s not the routine “oh good morning how are you doing?” when you know the person isn’t all that concerned with your reply. When you are in the hospital and are asked “how are you doing?”, they really want to know. You have everyone’s attention and in a way that feels good, not selfish.

Although I am done with treatments, I am not completely done with that place. I’ll return this Wednesday to remove the metaport from my chest. It is a quick surgery, only 30 minutes – no biggie. Each month I will have to return for blood work, every three months I will go for chest and bone scans. And each time I am sure I will be nervous and ready to throw up at the thought of bad news, but it is something I have to do. There are some people that are too afraid to return for their scans and believe that their treatment is over with on their last day of chemo and they couldn’t be more wrong. I personally knew a woman that was afraid to go for her scans and when the pain was too much to handle she finally went and by that time the cancer had spread and she was gone two months later.

I’ve been given a second chance at life and I intend on keeping it. God forbid the cancer should ever return, I intend on getting a third chance. Please people, if something hurts – go get it checked out by a doctor. I don’t care how minor you think it is. Even though my case was a success I could have a lot more usage in my arm if I had went to the doctor three months earlier when the pain had first started. If you tell me something hurts, I am going to yell at you to go see a doctor. A lot. Thank me later. :P

I will be having a benefit/end of treatment celebration and I’d like everyone I’ve ever met in my life to come. The plans are still in the works but I will be posting the info on here when I have it, and also sending out evites. Please come! Even if you read my blog and I don’t know you, you’re invited too. Details to come…

This blog has been a great friend to me throughout my ordeal. It’s nice to have a place to vent and know that people that care about me are reading and staying updated on my journey. I do intend on keeping this blog and updating it here on out, but how often I am not sure.

30 weeks of chemo and seven surgeries later, I am here closing out my countdown. This bump in the road has certainly left some marks on my body, but I think scars can be a beautiful thing. They’re proof of everything I’ve felt but wasn’t able to put to words, proof of success, and proof that experiences in life really do have a long lasting impression.

Thank you to everyone who supported me endlessly throughout this experience. The love I’ve felt is almost overwhelming, I feel very lucky. I promise that I will be there for you, too.