April Fools Brings A New Journey

I have finally finished chemotherapy and I am on the precipice of finding out what the next direction in this journey will be. Has the cancer metastasized further or has the chemo done it's job and eradicated the cancer and rendered me cancer-free? Can I allow myself to hope for that? To pray for that miracle? I think I can, and I feel that it will be gone. Tuesday holds a lot weight for me and my family. We are all going through our days as if nothing has changed, but in the back of all of our minds April 1 is beckoning us. These scans are different from all of the rest because they are the game-changer.
The chemo that I was on is not sustainable any longer. It is an aggressive course of treatment that strips your body to its core, killing off everything in its path. The result is a body that is weak, fatigued, a shell of itself. I've gone through blood transfusions, been so low on platelets that I could have bled to death from a fall, been dehydrated and nearly fainted, and felt beaten and bruised from shots. Chemo has been a vicious cycle of bloating, exhaustion, pain, and fear. Where does the fear come from? The fear is from the not-knowing. Are you allowing them to intentionally poison you, only to have it not work? Are you weakening yourself only to have yourself become susceptible to other illnesses? If I were to continue with this chemo, we would start to defeat the purpose of it. We have come to an impasse. I have to have scans on April 1 and blood work to determine where we go from here.
I have given my body up to this treatment, in hopes that this will heal me, that I have a chance for a cure. I bravely walked into HemOc every three weeks, awaiting my hours of treatment, feeling that this was my way of knowing that I was fighting the good fight. After 6 rounds, I have learned so much about myself and my family and friends. Countless people have offered to take me to chemo, and for that I am thankful. But I only allowed a few close people to be there with me, for many reasons. Chemo is no walk in the park. It's hours long, there are needles involved, poison is hung, and I am surrounded by people who are just as vulnerable as me, if not worse off. Many people that I would have liked to have been there with me, were not allowed. Mainly my best friend, Katie, because she is pregnant. Can't have her around that stuff! But I always chose those that were going to make me laugh, if I knew I would be up for it. Or those that would simply sit there and let me sleep, if it was my second or third day. Mom always went with me on my last day. She gave me warm blankets, kept me hydrated, and let me sleep. Others, like Jimmy, Jimbo and Mary came on long days to make me laugh. Jimmy even said the last time that he had a story that would have to wait until my first bag was hung. And he got used to the needles, so the nurses tolerated him! Jimbo forgot his iPad once, which scared the crap out of him. Mary brought her fellow nurses candy canes and made me last day of chemo signs! Kathryn traveled up here several times to be here for me. It was like having a mini-mom with me. Warm blankets, lots of sleeping, and she kept me fed. Aunt Nancy and Aunt Holly were awesome. They brought me doughnuts, juice, and drove me through a blizzard to get me there. Elizabeth came and cracked me up once. And my husband was there most weeks to hold my hand. He surprised me on my last day with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. As Mary said, "you got yourself a keeper, Jod." and she is right. These 6 rounds have been about me, and my close friends and family have been there to make it more bearable, to try and do their part to make it better for me. Some of them put their own fears aside, to be there. For that I am eternally thankful.
I know when I told people back in November that I had Cancer it was a shock to most if not all of them. I called some, texted others, and shared it on my facebook page. Many family and friends were on my doorstep within minutes. Some hung up the phone in a daze, unable to comprehend what I had said. Others never showed, never called or fell of the face of the earth. I can only chalk this up to their own fears. Hearing that one of your good friends, that you've known for so much of your life, who has shared both ups and downs with you, has a terminal illness has got to be scary. I think, or rather I know, that my diagnosis rocked everyone's world. I was young, very much alive, and just became a new mom. Life doesn't go in that order. You don't get everything you want, only to have it swiped cruelly away. But I am proof, that yes, yes, life can throw you a curveball.
I'm not harboring anger toward anyone, that is such a fruitless way to be especially when I am dealing with this. If anything, I am admiring those who have stepped up to the plate, have taken the opportunity to put their fears and lives on the backburner, to be there for me to unselfishly take the time out their days to simply send me a text or a Facebook post, to let me know they are thinking of me. Others are pulling out all the stops and planning an amazing benefit for us, that I can't even begin to comprehend. People are putting all their extra time and energy into this, to make sure my family is comfortable and can focus on the fight ahead. How do you thank people for that? These people have been my army, the people that have literally held me up, made me realize each and every day that I have so much to fight for, and haven't allowed me to give up because they can't envision a world without me in it.
Did everyone come around all at once? No. Some needed to come to terms with what I was facing, to have their own cry about me, to grasp what it was that was happening, before they could join my team. Others have had to have people knock some sense into them. To be told the gravity of the situation and to get their heads out of their asses, for lack of a better term. One thing is for sure, I don't have the time or energy to coax people out of their fears. One of my aunts told me, that this is a time that is all about me. I have to be selfish in this moment, take care of me and do all I can to survive, focus on a healthy me and if that means losing touch with others who can't seem to get it, than so be it.
Does it make me sad to see some that either just don't get it, or can't get out of their own way? Yes. I miss them. I would have liked to see their faces during this battle, heard their voices....known that they cared. But I can't force anyone out of their comfort zone. I don't know how it feels to see your family or good friend facing death in the face at such a young age. Does it make you ache inside every morning when it hits you? Does it make you cry at random moments when a memory flashes before your eyes? Does it make you sick to your stomach, and want to throw up at the thought of what they are going through? I think it does. I think it is very similar to how I feel day in and day out. Real family, real friends their connection to you allows them to feel your pain and know your plight. They don't let petty arguments, silly feuds and stubbornness get the best of them. They reach out, they don't ignore you, they make peace. Whether that be coming to your house after not seeing you in over a year (at other people's coaxing) or simply a phone call, text or email saying "How are you doing?" That's what real friendship and family is about.
I'd like to think that with cancer, the gloves came off. Bygones became bygones. Forgiveness and love was more important than egos and fears. For the most part, that has been the case. However, there are some that still don't get it, and never will. At this point in my journey, I have no regrets. Everyone I want to have in my corner is there. The ones that count, who wish they could take this all away, they have reached out, taken my hand either virtually or in reality, and told me what my diagnosis has meant to them.
My cancer has made some people grow up. It has made them bury hatchets, open doors they never opened, brought old friends back into my life. But it hasn't mended every fence, and that is ok. If you want what's best for me and for my family, you will be here. Negativity is not allowed in this house. Those that I feel I owe an apology to, have gotten it. I've come to a point in this journey where I am done worrying and being the people-pleaser. I'm taking my aunt's advice, and making it all about me.
My sister and husband both told me this weekend that they wished they had the kind of friends I have. They said that they don't know that anyone in their lives would step up to the plate as my friends have. I've always known I was blessed with some of the best of friends. Unfortunately they have had the opportunity to show me how much they love me. I wish it didn't take cancer to show me that.
I would be remiss not to mention my cousins in this moment. There is a saying that your cousins are the first friends you make, and that couldn't be more true for me. Pauly, Tony, Adam, Missy, JB and Jill were my first friends and have remained my most loyal of friends. Have our lives always traveled the same path and have we spent tons of time together in our adult lives? No, we each have our own things going on. However, this diagnosis hit them all hard, and I can tell. Especially my cousins Tony and Paul. We have been a part of eachother's lives since the moment we were born. Every Sunday we were together, we went to school together, and spent summers swimming and growing up together. Now, I get text messages from them, sometimes in my weakest moments, and it brings a smile to my face. I can't explain it, but every interaction with them makes me think of our youth, how far we have come, and how much we mean to eachother. We were our first friends. And one of us is suffering, so we rally. Our grandma would be proud of us, for being there for one another. We are the family she wanted us to be.
It is late, and I am restless thinking of April 1. I hope my body does not "trick me" this April Fools Day. My husband and I will hold our breath that day, our hearts will pound in our chest as we await the doctor and his news. When he speaks, I know my ears will burn, my palms will sweat, and I will clench my teeth in anticipation. All the while I will be picturing my baby boy in my head, and trying to keep the focus on him and hear the positive in whatever is said. I know no matter what, I will not give up because I have so many friends and family who believe in me.
I feel there are good things on the horizon. I envision a future that is bright. I see myself holding Sam's hand for a long time to come. I believe that "We got this!"