T Minus 36 Hours

I'm sitting at my desk at home feeling perfectly fine and amazingly normal, thinking about how it's altogether possible that in a few days I will neither feel like sitting up nor writing nor thinking at all.


Up until recently, my only association with the concept of  "chemotherapy" had several degrees of separation that kept me a safe distance from IT.  I have a well practiced tendency to not spend a lot of time thinking yukky thoughts that are disturbing or might put me in jeopardy of feeling more ignorant and helpless than I already feel on an ongoing basis.  The thought of chemotherapy falls right into that category.  I've known, more or less, what it is for many decades now ... but have elected not to bring up the topic at social functions or look it up in the Wikipedia just for kicks.  Therefore, when confronted with the distinct possibility that I would be undergoing such a course of treatment ... I felt like I was entering The Twilight Zone.  That was several weeks ago, after my surgery in early June that removed what was left of my cancerous uterus and my, thankfully, non-cancerous ovaries, Fallopian tubes, and other "female bits" that it turns out I never had any use for EVER in my life.  (Hence the other choice of blog title, "My Useless Uterus" ... I like the alliteration, too.)


Anyway ... I'll spare the details now (they may unfold as this blog moves forward in a cinematic "flashback" motif perhaps).  Suffice it to say that I had several delectable choices of "adjuvant" therapies after my surgery.  If you're not familiar with the term "adjuvant" ... not to worry.  Neither was I.  Never had that word ever surfaced around me or in front of me in all of my many years.  Chemotherapy, yes.  Adjuvant, no.  Well it seems that if you have surgery for endometrial (Uterine) cancer - EVEN IF you're told that they got it all out - in some cases (like mine) "they" (western medicine, non-alternative thinking oncologists) suggest to varying degrees that you follow up with a little chemo (and perhaps radiation as a chaser) just to raise the odds - albeit even just a few percentage points - that the cancer will not come back.  And since I REALLY liked the sound of that phrase: "the cancer will NOT come back"  ... I opted for the chemo (and perhaps some localized radiation - though not totally sure about that part yet), despite the feeling that I would soon be entering the Twilight Zone.  I mean ... come on ... I've encountered enough absurdity in my 50-something years to last several more lifetimes.  How bad could this 9-week stretch of chemo brain possibly be?


Well - I'm going to find out.  And I'm going to share it with you.  Oh lucky day!  This is my plan to get me through this Twilight Zone-ish experience.  If I can at all write about it ... I'm hoping it will make the days go quicker and this adventure seem less extreme.  That's the plan.  I'm going to try to keep my tongue planted firmly in my cheek as much as possible ... don't want this to get too serious.  Of course, I'm sure it will have it's moments of gravity.  But I'm hoping I can share with you the "lighter side of dealing with a bout of cancer" ... that's right - just like a "bout of the flu."  If I keep telling myself that's all there is to it, perhaps I'll be able to believe it one of these days soon.


Thanks for stopping by.  Hope to hear from you, dear reader.