One of our parishioners, as she goes through chemo to deal
with a lung tumor, told me recently “I am more and more tired. That worries me.”
I smiled. “This is normal. The effects of chemo tend to
accumulate from one cycle to the next. I was literally dragging myself during
my last three rounds.”
I discovered this in April – everything was getting harder
to do, as if I was moving on a different planet on which gravity would have
been more powerful than it is on earth.
The assistant of my oncologist confirmed it. “Yes, fatigue accumulates. You
get more anemic." She thought for a moment. "Maybe four
chemos would be enough ?" My reply came fast. “No, I want to go
through the six ones. I don’t want to cut corners. I visit dying patients
everyday at the hospice house, I want to put everything on my side not to
become one of them.” She did not insist.
The rhythm of chemo became predictable. On the day I would
receive it, I would enjoy relaxing in the comfortable armchair in the big room
where nurses were providing help with the IV. I would look for the ottoman on
little wheels where I could put my laptop on, near a plug. I would stroll on
facebook and the internet in between naps.
That night, my body would become a haunted house, with
strange cold drafts coming and going along my limbs. On the next day, I would receive a shot
to boost my white cells. This would make for a bad day, two days later, with flu-like
symptoms and sore bones. I would feel better the next morning. Then there would
be a few days of almost normal life until fatigue would catch up with me on the
last days of the round.
By mid-June, when the last cycle ended, I was hoping for a
sharp contrast, an immediate relief, since I was done. It came very gradually.
I kept checking on my reflection in mirrors at home.
Two weeks later, I finally
saw it, a shadow on my skull. My hair was starting to grow back. Spring was
back on my personal schedule.
