The Aftermath of Chemotherapy

     Nobody said that going through chemo would be easy. I approached my treatment as a battle plan. I would have an infusion of carboplatin and paclitaxel every 21 days. I would have blood drawn every Monday to track my white blood cells (WBC), platelets and other blood chemistry. I would meet with my oncologist every 21 days, the day before my next infusion, to evaluate my progress. In the meantime, I would be hypervigilant against germs because my chemo drugs suppressed my immunity. I would be extra careful in preparing my own food. I would avoid any uncooked food. I would avoid large crowds and sick people. I would not floss (floss can cut your gums and introduce bacteria). I would not get any manicures or pedicures for 6 months (the tools used can abrade your skin and introduce bacteria). I would always flush twice (the toxic chemo drugs are eliminated through the kidneys). I would wash my hands more frequently. I ultimately became a germ ninja. This gave me great focus. This also served to distract me from the real issue, I had ovarian cancer.

     I attacked my cancer by faithfully following the battle plan. I would have the 6 months of treatment with carboplatin and paclitaxel. I would then have another surgery to reverse my ileostomy, implant an intraperitoneal port (a catheter to allow infusion of chemo directly into my abdomen) and to allow my oncologist a "second-look" into my abdominal cavity. He would look for any signs of tumor growth and take biopsies. After they found "microscopic evidence of disease", I would be scheduled for another 6 months of chemo, this time with cisplatin (a more potent platinum based drug) and paclitaxel. I would have an IV infusion of paclitaxel every 21 days, an overnight IP infusion of cisplatin every 21 days and an overnight IP infusion of paclitaxel every 21 days. I would still get blood drawn every Monday and meet with my oncologist every 21 days. I would occasionally need to have an infusion of electrolytes or whole blood. I would deal with the side effects as needed. I would take medication to prevent the nausea and vomiting. I would massage my numb hands and feet. I would rest on those days when I was too fatigued to do anything else.  And of course I would continue my campaign against germs. All this tactical warfare propelled me through the next year.

     One day at my oncologist's office, 14 months after my diagnosis, he told me that there was "no evidence of cancer." The battle plan had worked! I am victorious! I am invincible! The cancer is gone! He says that he doesn't need to see me for 3 months! No weekly blood draws or anything! Wahoo! I should wait a few months before any manicures, tattoos, acupuncture, vaccinations or dental work because I am still immuno-compromised, but otherwise, I am free to go.

     Wait a minute. Free to go and do what? For 14 months, my life has revolved around my treatment. I have forgotten how to do anything else. I still see the specter of cancer waiting at the end of the driveway. I still have neuropathy in my feet and hands. I have developed a balance issue and need to use a walker. My bowels still argue with me occassionally. I am still dropping weight even though I eat like a pig. I still need electrolyte infusions, even 4 months post treatment. I am still pissed off that all this crap happened to me. What am I supposed to do now?

     I am supposed to find a way to clean up this mess from all the ravages of chemo. Not only the physical challenges, but also the taxations on the spirit. This is harder than dealing with the actual cancer. Cancer cells in my body are tangible and treatable. Cancer thoughts in my head have tenacity. I look for distractions. I am learning to crochet. I am sewing. I am cooking. I am taking photos. I go to support group. I go to therapy, both physical and psychological. I need more distractions. I need a battle plan. I am floundering in the aftermath of treatment. I still google all the latest research on ovarian cancer. I am obsessing that my balance issue is a tumor metastasis to my brain. I cannot escape from the stranglehold of cancer. There may be "no evidence of disease", but it's not gone. It's never gone. The fight is not over. It will never be over.