The Beginning of the End of the Beginning

Just a brief update.

I am tired. As in, all the time. I wake up tired. I go to bed tired.

I get tired enough from toweling off after a shower that I have to lay down again. Chemo is nuts.

Fortunately, chemotherapy is almost over. I am scheduled for my last infusion treatment this coming Friday, the 21st. If my blood counts (white cells and platelets) are strong enough, I will be able to go through with it. Otherwise we will have to delay to sometime the last week of February.

Needless to say, the sooner I get past this the sooner my body can return to normal. I would love to get back to walking without huffing and puffing – and without those senior moments of ChemoBrain that leave me temporarily stranded in search of direction or mission. But that won’t be the end.

For the next five years, I will still be subject to periodic scans to make sure McMurray isn’t coming back. Every three months to start out, doing a chest CT and an MRI on the knee – the two most likely places where the cancer might return.

That’s the part that never leaves you. Knowing that at any point, your body might betray you again, providing safe harbor and sustenance for a mutant mutiny of your own DNA, growing without purpose, and bleeding your life away one cell at a time.

I hope I am not the same person coming out of this that I was going in. But always grateful that I have a chance to come out of this, a healthy humane human.

15 thoughts on “The Beginning of the End of the Beginning”

  1. I venture to say that said your humanity and your perspective has flourished during this long period of suffering. It has been a great kindness for you to share that perspective with us, so that we might understand and become better humans, as well.

    1. Glad you are on the downhill side and still looking forward. I hope things go well with the last treatment and you have many more cancer free years.

  2. I just love you. My Mother dealt with 4 years of chemo and I wish I could have read your words to her. She was too angry to reach out but she would have listened to you. Keep it up Angel. I bet you are hitting more lives than you know. 😘

  3. Ike I pray for you, and I am so thankful that this coming infusion will be the last. Your words have brought all those who love you great comfort. The way you have written your thoughts and feelings reveal to us that you have never lost hope. Good luck and God bless you.

  4. I’m so sorry you’re dealing with such a terrible disease and treatment for it. May God bless you and restore you to good health.

  5. Keep forgetting to remember to forget, Ike, in doing so you’ll be to get past this enough so that it doesn’t wear on you as you approach your next chapter.

  6. You are a warrior, sir.

    Praying for you and hopeful that this is indeed the beginning of the end. Healthy Ike is in there – he’s just waiting to come out!! Sending lots of peace and love.

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