I'm finding the end to be more emotionally grueling than any other part of this journey. I play mental games with my anxiety every time I step foot in that building and find that I cry at the slightest thought or discussion of my experience with chemo. It's not because I'm sad for my life or my situation. It's because I'm so worn down from the cycle of sickness and wellness. To willingly inflict something on yourself that will make you so sick for days is bound to conflict with your short term rationale.
In the long run I know I'm obviously doing the right thing. But while sitting on the couch examining my daily life, it's hard to see past the next treatment.
I was in and out of sleep during those last five days, wondering if the misery would ever let up and wondering why my magical pills weren't offering me relief from the nausea. All I could do was lay there in the dark, quiet room my mother keeps for me and hope I could drift off again to pass some of the time.
I look forward to the day when I can return to the petty nuances of life.
I'll put my hair back now in its thinning little pony tail, hoping it can hang in there for two more rounds and head off for my third Neupogen shot in as many days. What little glimpse of normal I started to see today will be gone by the evening, so for now I'll wallow in it and say to myself:
"Only two more times. I only have to do this two more times."