Inside the Mind of an Educator

 The first day of chemo was manageable, scary, emotionally taxing, and exhausting. I spent nine hours sitting on dry ice at -30 degrees to protect myself from neuropathy and permanent hair loss, from one of the two drugs given (Docetaxel), and by the end, I was exhausted.  The best part of the day was finally curling up in the warmth and sleeping through most of the night. The next day brought a slight nausea, but nothing I couldn't handle. Oddly enough, the only thing that helped was pickle juice. Gavin and I joked that it was like I was in the first trimester of pregnancy. For two days straight, I craved pickles and sipped the juice, and it worked better than any nausea medication. By Saturday, the side effects began to shift. The nurses had warned me that the injection to boost my white blood cells might cause bone pain, so when I felt achy, like I was coming down with the flu, I wasn't too worried. But then I noticed my jawbone aching in a way that felt different. By Su...

  Chemotherapy: My First Come-to-Jesus Meeting I didn’t realize how much I was dreading chemotherapy until the days leading up to it, when I had my first real meltdown of this journey. Normally, I tend to run when I am feeling those emotions, but sometimes they simmer until they finally boil over. In our household, we call these rage-burning, shouting, crying, spewing matches with Jesus my “Come-to-Jesus Meetings." They’re raw, confessional moments when the pent-up energy, anger, and grief that have been lurking beneath the surface finally come spilling out to Him. This chemo round had already been delayed once due to insurance, which felt like a roller coaster—gearing myself up to be filled with toxic chemicals, only to have it pushed back another week. By the time Monday came around for my labs, I was already stretched thin. What should have been a simple 20-second blood draw turned into 7 hours, 15 phone calls, 4 trips to the lab, 6 emails, and 2 trips to the library to print o...

This last week, I have tried to wrap my mind, body, and soul around the idea that I have a disease that has progressed enough that I need chemotherapy treatment. I have struggled with the fears and the frustration that toxic chemicals will be pumped into my body. The hope is that this aggressive approach will destroy any of the cancer cells that are lurking and searching for a place to plant the seed of death. I'm grappling with the decision to do it or not. Do I proceed with the treatment, as it offers only a 2–3% chance of preventing metastasis or recurrence, while carrying risks like a chance of causing another type of cancer, permanent hair loss, numbness and tingling in the hands and feet, and potentially being fatal? Yet, the oncologist stated it is the best chance to eradicate the cancer before it spreads to other parts of my body, where it would become treatable but incurable. Of course, it is not a guarantee that it will make a difference, as it could come back anyway. Dur...