Shouldn’t it get easier?

After 12 treatments of chemotherapy, shouldn’t it get easier? 

I expected it to be a breeze by now, waltzing into the chemo infusion unit, sitting down in the recliner, and getting my weekly dose of posion.  But it’s not, really.  Knowing what to expect from chemotherapy, and living through a dozen sessions, doesn’t always make it easier.

Each week, I would give almost anything not to have to go down to the hospital and get treatment.  Knowing that the IV will chill my veins, the premeds will make me fall asleep, the steroid will make me jumpy for 2 days, the taxol will make me nauseated all weekend, the bone pain will be fierce like knives, and I will be generally exhausted until Tuesday makes it hard to submit to another dose.  I would give almost anything not to have to go down there again.

Almost. Anything. 

But not time with my children, watching them and helping them grow up into “big kids,” and being there every step of the way.  And so, for them, I will continue with this protocol until the end of the year, and look forward to surgery instead of dreading it, and give thanks for the opportunity to fight this cancer.

(But it’s still hard.)

Little Bear is my littlest reason for living.  His daddy and brother are big reasons too.  Then there’s family.  And watch out, NASA … when I feel better, I’m coming for you!