The Only Way Out is Through
It's 5 AM. Being awake this early has nothing to do with insomnia and everything to do with needing to write. I have been, not surpressing really, but more ignoring my feelings since my last treatment. Not wanting to put the truth in black in white. Not because the truth is so terrible or frightening but because the truth is not so "pretty" I guess, for lack of a better term. So this morning I am awake and the words are pressing on me for escape. The truth is aching for release so I can liberate my mind as I step into my virtual ring for my last round of chemotherapy.
Things have been generally predictable this last go round. The first three days being managable. My sister cleverly figured out how to keep my "pipes" clean despite the unbearable constipation that is a key side effect of the drug given. I am not talking about the average "I can't go" scenerio here. I am talking about a magnitude that I had never experienced before in my life! There is nothing more compounding to the misery of queasiness, dizziness and general malaise than plugged pipes. We finally got that figured out and prevented it entirely this last round and will approach it the same manner this time as well. I am not writing this to talk about my bowels however. Discussing toilet habits, to me, is humorous, and something mothers of newborns and those of advanced age place high on their hierarchy of basic needs and even writing about it here makes me want to laugh at myself. The woes of constipation are not what awakened me this morning. This truth does not lie in the physical.
I have been experiencing a feeling of dread as I approach this last treatment. I am not afraid. After all I have been through little frightens me with the exception of great pain. I have had great pain and these treatments are nowhere close to that. I am not unhappy. I firmly believe that happiness is a choice. Some days it's easy to choose happy, others not so much but I embrace my happiness everyday, even on the ones that seem most difficult. I don't think I have a bad attitude. My fatigue can be interpreted as a bad attitude I suppose or perhaps even depression but it's just a side effect and I was already chronically tired to begin with. There has been no uncontrollable weeping or excessive sleeping here just some predictable grumpiness from time to time which I usually state openly with an "I'm grumpy." No, this dread is more like the feeling one gets during flu season only if one has truly had the flu in the past. Those folks do anything and everything to avoid the flu because they don't ever want to feel that way again. It's seems like no matter how fearless, happy and positive I am this "shard" of dread is annoying me. Lest I sound like like a whiner or ungrateful for the opportunity to defeat the beast I have pressed this feeling down and it feels like an anchor. Not really dragging me down with it but more holding me in place.
So there it is. Today I release my dread. It's time to rise off the stool in my corner of the ring. My team is with me making sure my gloves are laced tight but the mental game is up to me. I need to get my head in the fight and not dread stepping back to the center of the ring but welcome it. I am about to deliver the knock out punch to the beast! Yes, I am tired of this fight and wish it was already over, but one more round is required and I am up for it. I have to do this! I can do this! I will do this! The battle is almost over and the only way out is through.