Today I had my first follow-up appointment —half-way into each chemo cycle, I see my oncologist for a general check-in and, more importantly, a blood-cell count.
I got in early, saw the lab technician and, within minutes, Dr. K. had the results in his hands. All looks great —he said giving me a thumbs up. One sixth done, and you are ready for the next one —he added, as he looked at me with a smile and a wink.
It is hard to believe that, during week 1, for a brief (yet, intense) 72-hour window, I felt like death —I know, poor choice of words in the world of chemo patients, but it's literally how I felt. Nausea, chills, mad-runs to the bathroom, exhaustion after going up one pathetic flight of stairs and an overall feeling of being sick.
Today, it’s almost as if nothing had happened. My blood-cell count is where it is supposed to be, my appetite is fairly normal and my energy levels are back where they belong. I guess this is what Dr. K. meant when he kept saying "you will handle it just fine."
I thought he meant I would have no side effects, when he actually meant I would be able to bounce right back.
I feel humbled and amazed at the same time. Humbled by the fragility of health and the things we take for granted —I will never look at the flight of stairs connecting the two levels of our home the same way. Amazed by how, in a matter of days, a proper-functioning human body knows what to do to restore normalcy to our lives (at least, as it pertains to blood-cell count).
It would have been nice to avoid the nausea, the chills and the overall feeling of death. But there is something powerful and invigorating (for future chemo rounds and for life in general) about being able to look back —with the benefit of hindsight— knowing I was (and we all are) able to bounce right back.
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