Round 5 Recap

Life now seems like some surreal combination of recognizable scenes mashed with bursts of Wes Anderson style interludes. It's as if my brain is filling the blanks with creative interceptions just to help me cope. I don't mind it. In fact, I'm grateful for it. Pure reality is such a bore. Oh, and scary.

It's another 3rd week Wednesday and although I'd convinced myself I was free, chemotherapy beckons me back against my will. Devon, like always, has cleared his schedule and readies himself for a day playing the role he's selected - superhero sidekick, master sous chef, husband extraordinaire. 

The girls have spent the night with loving grandparents sleeping in a bedroom filled with fairytales, fresh sheets trimmed in lace, and the bouncing baby dolls of my youth. A nest for our little tweety birds, cozy and safely distanced from my fight. They're protected and it starts my day with a calming breath.

I wake up naturally to the thought that although today is another day on the chemo roller coaster, at least it's the day our little cottage will get a fresh coat of paint. What a renaissance for our fixer-upper and what a luxury to enjoy not having to lift a finger. Lord knows we don't have the energy for it. But this is why we work hard. An exchange of value. I sit on laptops putting my MBA to use and they perfect the mastery of applying exterior paint to an historic home while enduring brutal summer conditions. In the end, I hope we're both happy. Today, at least I am.

It's sunny out, a perfect midwestern mid-80's summer morning. I look to Devon like my genie and cast my first wish - a walk to the local breakfast joint for something delicious paired with a well-crafted coffee. Without hesitation, he approves and we're swiftly out the door.

We stroll through the tree-lined streets of our small town to enjoy a perfectly paced breakfast with heart-painted cappuccinos. I wonder if they did it just to cheer me up. You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you. The restaurant is a re-imagined train station. I sip coffee while envisioning myself awaiting the next locomotive just around the bend ready to sweep me away to some new destination full of discoveries. Maybe in a floral, tailored, calf-length dress, white gloves, and a smart hat angled just right. Squared off brown leather suitcase in hand, eyes full of wonder. Although it never comes, I decide I have everything I need in this life, right here and now. No ticket necessary.

We head back through the trees and up a small hill back home. This walk will be hard tomorrow, enjoy it now while you can. Our house is now covered in men in coveralls, alive with hard work and the excitement of transformation. Maybe I WAS transported back at the station. 

It's time to clean up and Devon escorts me to the bathroom. We share a slow dance in the shower and I'm reminded how insanely smart I am for the series of choices I've made in my life. Although I never knew they'd lead up to something like this. Smart, and lucky. No way I could do this alone. No one saw the match for me in an introvert but time has proven he is my perfect complement. A man of few words, exactly what I need now. Space to just be, not measure or describe incessantly. Just let it all pass through.

We get dressed and as I finish my near 10-step skin care routine and face painting, I decide to give myself a pass. Today, I will go nude, wig-less. I will play my role as Lady Godiva and ride through the streets "naked". My eyes are big enough, smile bright enough, cheeks rosy with life. Nothing to hide and certainly no one to impress.  

We arrive at the breast cancer center and I'm still in disbelief. How am I back here, again?? I really must stop counting chickens some day... I check off one-by-one the now memorized steps of the process - grab a mask, register at the desk, fill out the are-you-considering-suicide questionnaire, wait to be called in and hope they pronounce your name right. Never thought I'd commit something like this to memory.  

They call me in, ushering Devon and I to our pre-chemo consultation with my medical oncologist. Her mood matches mine. Let down that we're going in for more. But the subsequent discussion is more than reassuring that I've made the right call to blindly accept the medical guidance. We both know it's the right path, so more it is. She swears this will be it and I believe her. We talk at length about my emotional journey and how things have gotten harder. She reminds me of the long road ahead and to give myself grace, a shortcoming I've always had. Maybe this time I'll actually listen. The alternative is getting to be a bit too exhausting. 

We wrap up after what feels like my thousandth breast exam then travel to my private room yet again for treatment. Gears shift and it's time for a reminder that this isn't for the faint of heart.

Nurse number one tries and fails at preparing my IV explaining that my veins have simply been tortured through chemotherapy and are now rejecting any attempt for additional wreckage. She swears the next nurse is "slick" and won't let me down. Nurse number two tries another two times to no avail. Nurse three comes in confidently with another three attempts. I worry this is too much for Devon as I see him squirming in his seat from the corner of my eye as he fights back anxiety triggered by witness of my distress. I keep my mouth shut for his wellbeing and opt for deep breaths instead. It gets to be too much for him and he steps out of the room for a moment just as I slowly exhale to the nurses... Can I please... just take... a break? The sword fight with my veins takes a short pause as the nurse team allows me to catch my breath and slow the whole body shaking that's begun as my body fights back tears and the urge to just fight back. 

I'm wrapped in warm wet blankets, heating pads, and drop cloths. A long cry from a spa treatment yet I tell my brain I'm about to get a glorious manicure. Devon feeds me water from my bottle and as it drips down my chin we're overcome with giggle fits. Is this the best you got, life?! If we don't laugh, we'll cry.

Nurse number I've-lost-count joins us. And finally lucky poke number 7 comes to my rescue.

In the coming 4 hours I float in and out of pseudo-consciousness and peek-a-boos at Devon smirking back at me recalling my dead-set commitment to staying awake through treatment. He tells me to stop bringing books and I smile back to acknowledge his wisdom.

I awake to the sound of my drip beeping to notify the nurses that we've come to an end for the day. I look down to see both arms are bruised and ravaged. My body fills with warmth as I realize on the inside I'm unscathed. I've fought another round. And I've prevailed.    

Only one more match to go. And I'm ready for the TKO.