As I sit here in a
recliner meant for clinical trial patients, in a room meant for those grasping
at anything to make it just one more week, one more month, I think back on
my last two years.
I was told in January of
2017 I had cancer. I spent the next 12 months surrounded by hospitals,
oncologists, nurses, IV bags full of chemo, plastic surgeons, oncology
surgeons, pills for nausea, pills for pain, pills to reduce the side effects of
pills. I slept thru 2017 and my wife did everything else. This past year – 2018
– spent outside of the “chemo bubble” has been full of anxiety, pain,
apprehensiveness, anger, and yet pure joy.
Beginning with the eighth phase and for the next two and a half years, my 28-day routine in this trial extends to once every six months.Three months before I see my oncologist for a "routine" visit.

I again feel lost and anxious. Of the unknown. What is going to happen to me? Will I be OK in six months? Will I be too sick to walk these halls on my own the next time I visit? Oh, how I hate that this has happened to me.
I sit in the recliner, my feet up and under a warm blanket waiting for my vaccine. I past the time laughing with the nurses, smile knowingly at the others sitting in their own recliners fighting this horrid disease, hold my head high and breathe deeply. I’m a proud survivor. Yet I’m scared, doubtful and terrified. And so it is. My life. Moving onward. But never to be as it was.
#KeepRooting4Me #FuckCancer
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