The Curse of The Great Bam-chemo

Much like the Boston Red Sox (up until 2004), I’ve deemed myself victim of a curse… while not quite the history of The Great Bambino, nor significance of a 104 year drought, I’ve claimed that damn bell-ringing as my worst enemy. Ringing that bell was supposed to signify the end of my cancer book. Little did we know at that time, it was just the end of one chapter, leading me into Chapter 2 of Chemo.

Well, all curses must come to an end, right? At least for the Red Sox it happened. (P.S. If you haven’t watched The Comeback: 2004 Boston Red Sox, please do. If not interesting, it’s at least funny. Pedro is hilarious!)

So Monday is, hopefully, my last chemo treatment. I can’t get myself to say that without the “hopefully,” because I’ve been one to say if it wasn’t for bad luck I wouldn’t have any luck at all. So maybe I can be lucky this go-around and not have to endure anymore of this bullshit!

So to ring the damn bell, or not to ring the bell… I’ll probably decide the day of. But one thing is for certain, I ain’t doing this dance again. Even if I need to, I won’t. I can’t. 

And I won’t!

Monday should be means for celebration, and perhaps it will be of some sort. But nothing in comparison to a World Series win. I still have a long way to go and a long way to come. I still have five years of tricking my body into thinking it’s in menopause, and while that length of time works for most women’s treatment plans, I am in an unusual situation where in five years, I’m still young enough, my body might take itself out of menopause and start producing hormones again. At which point we will then address.

So my timeline minimum is five years, but who knows how much longer and how much tougher it could get. While the effects of my first chemo were sudden and thankfully short-lived, I haven’t been as lucky in year two. Now the chronic symptoms start and continue. Bone pain, joint pain, lymphedema, mood swings, and the never-ending fear.

Now, ever new symptom to appear is paired with me thinking, “the cancer has spread.” 

The fear and anxiety will never stop, but hopefully the lingering pain, swelling, and pissy moods will.

After my last chemo treatment and it’s intense, building side effects, I doubted myself even going through with this last treatment. But I can. And I will. One more time. For shits and giggles. Heavy on the shit, light on the giggles.

Chemo is like the Great Bambino of cancer… The Sultan of Swat! The King of Krash! The Colossus of Clout! Ya know… BABE RUTH!