It’s been over a week since I had my last chemo treatment, and I naively thought my body might cut me some slack. You know, as a little parting gift for making it through 16 rounds. But nope. Chemo laughed in my face and said, “I’m not done with you yet.” I should’ve known better. I mean, why would the side effects take a vacation just because chemo is technically over? It’s still running its course through my system like an uninvited guest who refuses to leave.
For most of the week, I was feeling okay—so much so that I actually made it into the office. It was a refreshing break from being cooped up in the house, talking to my plants like they’re my new coworkers. But just when I started getting comfortable, my old nemesis, The Devilish Diarrhea, made a grand return on Friday. And let me tell you, it did not come to play. I have consumed enough Imodium AD to probably warrant a wellness check from the pharmacy. At this point, I should just set up a work-from-bathroom situation because leaving its vicinity is too risky.
Then there’s my hands. Oh, my poor hands. Between the neuropathy and the constant tingling, I’m convinced they are planning to detach themselves and walk away. They are shriveled like I’ve been soaking in water for days, and no amount of cream, ibuprofen, or soaking is giving me relief. I swear, my fingers have one job, and that’s to remind me every second that they are NOT okay.
This week is full of appointments—because what’s life post-chemo without a fully booked calendar of medical visits? I have a breast MRI followed by a meeting with my surgeon, who will likely schedule my surgery. Then there’s my Keytruda infusion, which, according to Nurse Marti, may cause a little diarrhea. At this point, I had to laugh. A little? Marti, girl, I already have a VIP pass to the bathroom. What’s a little more at this point?
In an attempt to reclaim some normalcy, I’m easing back into walking and weight training. I set a goal of 3,000 steps, which is comical considering I used to hit 15,000 a day pre-diagnosis. But after months of barely walking from the couch to the fridge, this feels like training for a marathon. Baby steps—literally.
Of course, the more I research, the more I realize that some side effects might stick around for a while. My taste buds could be on strike for a year (I really need them to get it together before I lose my love for food forever). Neuropathy recovery could take just as long, even with acupuncture. The thought of waiting for my body to feel normal again is exhausting.
And then there’s the biggest question of all—what does normal even look like now? I keep saying I’m ready to get my life back, but what does that actually mean? What do I change? What do I keep? Am I truly ready for this next chapter?
One thing’s for sure—whatever comes next, I’ll tackle it the same way I tackled chemo: with humor, resilience, and probably a whole lot of Imodium AD.
