Another three weeks are in the books, and off to Mayo I go. Today was bittersweet as I set forth on another round of labs—and, as expected, they’re still abnormal. But fear not, I’m improving on several factors, and there’s no cause for worry.
While meeting with my nurse to talk through the labs and side effects, she pointed out that my liver numbers were a little off. “Not by much,” she said—it could just be the medicine. Of course, I was brutally honest and confessed, “It’s probably the alcohol I had over the weekend.”
Yeah, yeah, I know. I shouldn’t be drinking—but it was my off week, and I wanted to join my social group and enjoy a drink, too. She actually thanked me for my honesty and then smiled, reminding me this was my final treatment.
Just two more weeks of Capecitabine, one more week of walking on hot coals, and waking up to bleeding fingernails—and I’ll be done.
But the bigger question that lingers in my mind is: Am I?
I’m staying positive but can’t help feeling anxious about next Monday when I’ll have my first mammogram and MRI since surgery and radiation. Every swollen area, every new ache or twinge sends my mind into a tailspin. So many thoughts about cancer playing hopscotch in my body.
Is it still there?
Is it coming back?
If so, when? And will I be able to handle more chemo if I have to?
Those thoughts don’t linger long because they get smothered by the reminder of why I’ve fought so hard. I’ve fought for me. For my family. For my friends. For my life.
I didn’t do this shit for nothing.
God didn’t make me a weak woman.
I was built for this.
Built to manage, to endure, to fight through it all—and come out on top. Yet, I’m still human. The thoughts return. I wrestle with them. And each time I push them out of my head, I get a little stronger.
It’s like weight resistance training—the more you lift, the stronger you become.
Soon, you might just have to call me Ms. Hulk, because I am INCREDIBLE. đź’Ą
Moving Forward
As I wait for my upcoming scans, I’m leaning into positive thoughts and focusing on the next chapter—life after treatment.
First up: physical therapy. My right arm has limited range of motion, and lymphedema causes swelling in my hand and arm. My first PT appointment is next week, where I’ll learn how to move the fluid properly. I’ve already picked up a few tricks from “YouTube University,” and the swelling has gone down a lot.
Next, it’s time to get my body moving again. I’ve signed up for the Gate River Run in March. Don’t be fooled by the title—I don’t run, never have, and probably never will. Let’s call it the Gate River Walk, which is just under 10 miles. Peer pressure made me do it, but now I’m excited. I want to reach a level of health where I can do something like that proudly.
And then… I’ll be returning to intermittent fasting. I loved fasting before cancer. It started as a way to lose weight, but it became much more than that. It gave me clarity, balance, and energy. I simply felt good.
With no more medication that requires food twice a day, I can start fasting again—focusing not on the pounds (though I’d love to shed 30) but on how fasting makes me feel.
Cancer has changed how I see my body. When everything is working fine, we take it for granted. But the moment something goes wrong—a headache, back pain, blurry eyes—we suddenly realize how much our bodies do for us.
My body has fought hard for me. It’s carried me through every round, every scar, every long night and painful morning. It deserves my gratitude, not my criticism.
So I’m learning to appreciate it—to nurture it in ways I never did before. This body, with its scars and strength, is beautiful. And it’s only getting stronger.
I’m ready to move forward and explore what comes next.
Because I was built for this. đź’—
