Now what?
So it’s over. I’m tempted to add “for now.” When I asked the doctor what I could do to prevent a relapse, his answer was: “Exercise and stay fit so if you do relapse you’ll be strong for the treatment.” Not very satisfying at all. I asked the chemo nurse the same question. Hers was more philosophical, but really not more helpful: “What did you do to get the lymphoma? You don’t know. So what can you do to keep it away? You don’t know.” Hers at least felt more honest somehow. And hopeful. But still.
So I’ve been doing some of my own internet research today and I know I should stay away from it; it’s only scary. But I want some answers, goddammit. That don’t involve planning for a future of doing this again and again. For starters, I’m going to Hippocrates Institute soon for a week-long detox. I want to eliminate any of the possible pre-existing conditions I had for this to take root. And a clean colon never hurt anyone. I also want to flush out the chemo juice and dead cancer cells. They have an infrared sauna, all-raw foods, and a colonic comes with the price. Mm.
Jim the Basketball Diaries guy said they found a plastic army guy in his post-colonic refuse. He had swallowed it when he was a kid.
I think I had it somewhere in me though that I could put this all behind me, learn from it and fly into the future. With a few physical and psychic battle scars as reminders. But alas, reality chimes. This is a long-term illness, even in remission (and they haven’t used that word yet), that requires long-term care. What that care is is something I’ll have to find on my own. Yes, exercise, nutrition, sleep, prioritizing health, keeping my immune system optimal, yoga, love, self-love, writing, and being in tune with my body enough that I can detect changes fast. I feel like I have a newborn that’s going to require constant monitoring and maintenance. And like Tom Robbins has often said, maintenance is not my strong suit. I’ve never been a put-it-away-after-you’re-done-with–it kind of gal. And consistency is somehow wired in me to be the killer of spontaneity. But it will have to become my new friend.
But yes, the chemo is done for now. Hopefully done forever. I’ll feel crappy for a couple more weeks and then begin to feel normalish. Then my hair will start sprouting, just in time for spring. Leaves and hair both at once. T and I are planning to get foldable bikes and go for good rides. I’ll start swimming again. Lowering my chocolate doses. Go back to work. Turn 32.
I have a retest in four weeks. More radioactive smoothies. Then, if that’s all clear, a retest in six months. I’ll have no need for lamps soon; I’ll be my very own nightlight. But hopefully a cancer-free one.
Thanks to all who have been so amazing through this first, harrowing stage. The diagnosis, the doctor scramble, the treatment. I’m learning to let in the love and be a little more me with you all. So thanks. Now, today? I write for work, I go for walk, I eat, I drink a gallon of water like the doctor says. Monday, I get Reiki. Tuesday I go to the dentist. Which I think will seem like a happy fun thing now. Oh and Sunday? Oscar Heaven. No matter what my pop-culture-hating boyfriend says….
Peace.
