no mo chemo

Let me say that again:

NO MO CHEMO!

Translated as: No More Chemo 🙂

The past couple weeks have been a whirlwind, but I will start at the beginning.

I was at the Mayo Clinic for two days – scans on the first, doctor consult on the second – my favorite [eye roll]. I’m getting used to my two day appointments slowly eating away my saved sick leave at work, but two sleepless nights [I mean REALLY sleepless nights] take time to recover.

On the second day, my doctor practically skipped through the open door saying, “Well, here we are, at our last appointment on therapy!”

I sat there, speechless.

First off, this behavior was SO unlike my doctor. Skipping? Smiling? Practically sing-songing his way into my appointment? My doctor has had the most wonderful bed-side manner throughout the past five years. He’s never treated me like just a number; I’ve always been spoken to and thought of like the young woman I am. But this? This was new.

The appointment continued with the same vibe as it started: clear scans & no more chemo pills. It was the shortest appointment I’ve ever had, yet it was the most… wonderfully pleasing appointment. It’s incredibly hard to find words to describe how I felt at appointment, leaving this appointment, driving home after the appointment, when I celebrated the news with my family after the appointment, and when I laid my head down to sleep the night of the appointment.

Incredibly hard.

And usually words are my thing, ha.

I just can’t believe I’m living in a world where I don’t have to reach for that little orange pill every night. It’s a world I never really thought I’d be a part of again. Deep down, I always thought taking chemo was going to be something I would do forever. There have been times over the past couple weeks that I have found myself reaching in my purse for my pills, just out of habit, and I’ve had to stop myself. I actually end up laughing at myself. Old habits die hard, I guess?

Overall, it is a day that will be forever in my memory.

Leaving the doctor’s office, I didn’t let myself cry. I didn’t let my mom cry. Honestly, I was afraid I  would have lost all control, and I don’t know if I would have been able to stop. And to be more honest, I still have A LOT in front of me. This adventure doesn’t stop after this appointment, no matter how positive and amazing I felt.

Believe me, I felt amazing. But it was short lived.

I will now be scanned every three months for the next two years.

Double the blood draws.

Double the scan anxiety.

Double the sleepless nights.

I guess there was a small part of me that thought this phase of GIST would be closed. That high-risk, cancer patient would no longer be a label by my name. That I could look at the Mayo Clinic in the rear view mirror and never think of it again. That small part of me will be waiting a bit longer.

In a way, I do know I’m starting a new chapter. A chapter without the side effects of chemotherapy. A chapter without limitations on starting a family, [YES – I was also given a green light for this, which deserves a blog post in itself]. But there seems to always be a carrot dangling out in front of me, just out of reach.

At this point in the journey, I should know better.

I am a high-risk cancer patient.

I am strong.

I am brave.

I am a fighter.

I will be in remission.

I won’t let it win.

Thanks for sticking with me –

xo