Chemo #8 of 12
I can honestly say I see the light at the end of the tunnel - it's still far off, but I feel it close at hand and that drives me this week.
It's been a rough week here in Kosovo - we're back on lockdown, as we've got multiple cases of Covid on base. The cafeteria (DFAC) has completely shut down after several food service workers tested positive, so everyone on base has been issued MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat) - they are just as appetizing as they sound.
On top of that, Shem's mom has tested positive for Covid, which she caught in the hospital - so he and his son (who works at the pizza place) have been quarantined at home for two weeks. The food court also had positive cases, including the lady who made my Friday Night Tacos this past week. (The ONE meal I go out of my room to collect!)
The sad thing is - I knew this was coming. Anyone who was watching the trend of people not wearing masks in town, the numbers of cases rising rapidly outside the gate - this can't be a surprise. And I'm not angry about it, because this is something we're seeing worldwide. People are TIRED of wearing masks and staying away from crowds and social distancing. If the virus hasn't affected you personally, it's easy to think that it's all news hype and scare tactics and government control mechanisms. Until it DOES hit you personally.
Guys, I'm not complaining - none of this has affected my life much because I'm already as isolated as one can be. (Okay, so I'm not going to get my Friday night tacos anymore - but honestly, nobody is going to bemoan the loss of Taco Bell on a large scale) It's just disheartening to watch - and to know that despite everything I'm doing - wearing a mask, washing my hands, staying away from everyone else, avoiding cafeteria food that's been handled by dozens of people.....there's still a risk that it could find me.
And I accept that - because sushi incident aside, I KNOW I am doing everything in my power to avoid it - to take care of myself - to get enough rest - to MAKE SURE I'll be coming home and collecting hugs from all of you that have been so amazingly wonderful not only in your kindness and emotional support during my cancer journey - but those of you that have been TAKING CARE OF YOURSELVES and doing everything you can to survive in these new and confusing times. My heart thanks you.
I KNOW it's hard. I KNOW everyone is tired of taking precautions. Do what you need to know - but know that this world is better with you in it - and all those things that you're missing and craving so badly right now WILL be there again. Just hang on a little longer!
Okay enough about that. Chemo #8.
My white blood cells are good this week - the doctor is happy.
After starting chemo, for the first time, they bring another patient into the room to begin her chemo for the week. I don't know anything about her or what kind of cancer she has - she doesn't speak a word of English, and we're both wearing masks on our face - but we still manage to communicate with our eyes a sense of support for one another. Giving each other understanding and power and a feeling that we're truly not alone on our journeys.
When I'm finished, I take a deep breath and wait for the guys to pick me up. There are four weeks of chemo left. Four. There is an ending in sight. My heart feels a little lighter. I'm thinking about life post-chemo.
On the way back to base, my friend Preveza (the massage therapist) messages me and says they are shutting down tomorrow - but she'll stay late if I want to come in and get a lymphatic massage. She's done miracles - the seroma in my armpit has gone down from the size of a softball to hardly noticeable at all thanks to her work. I head there when we return to base and tell each of the therapists to take care of themselves while they're away because they are a bright spark of self-care in this changed world.
Back at my room, I know i'm not going to sleep even though I'm absolutely exhausted. That's normal for Tuesday nights. I'll be up six or seven times thanks to the fluids - but I'm just restless from all the chemicals. Most Wednesdays I'm up at dawn and heading to work early - and I know a decent night of sleep will come Wednesday nights.
Understanding the routine has been helpful. Painting has become meditative for me - and tonight I finished one of my favorite paintings to date. As I'm working on them, they take on a life of their own - and usually about half way through, I know who this painting is meant for. On this one, I knew before I began - it was an absolute act of love, and I'm so pleased with it.
Now for those of you who mysteriously find yourself with one of my paintings, please note that I do NOT expect you to hang it up over your fireplace and gaze at it lovingly for the next twenty years, praising my not-quite-Michaelangelo skills. It's just a small way for me to say, "Hey, during the worst trials of my life - this is something that I made for you, because thinking of you while I painted it brought me peace and gratitude and joy during those times."
Sending you all much love.
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