I have been writing less on this blog lately but this morning I knew I needed to get my fingers to work even if I had just posted a few days ago. “Chemo Mondays” are still hard I must admit. I really don’t cry anymore except for the mini explosions I seem to have on my way to chemo on Mondays.
Today I woke up in a good fighting mood. My appointment was late enough that I was able to drop the kids off at school and Sebastien was happy that I would be walking him to his classroom as opposed to dropping him off in the car loop. I felt honored that he wanted me walking by his side. He wanted to bring his ginormous chess trophy to show his teacher and classmates. He won second place in our County for the whole year and his trophy had to be 3 feet tall! So I went to school and then headed out to chemo. Fred comes along when I see my doctor and today was one of those days. Since he heads to work when I am all hooked up (and knows that I can no longer escape haha!) we have been driving in separate cars.
My amazing niece Océanne who is now 19 years old sent me a CD of French songs to express her “admiration for my courage” as she said she could not put her thoughts into words. She wrote me the most touching and moving letter (ok I did cry that time too). My sister’s girls are so precious to me, although we live far apart, I still feel close to them. I always said that if anything happened to their parents that I would want to have them, they are like daughters to me. So Océanne sent me this letter in which she explained the meaning of a song called “La Difference”. This song was written by “Mes Aieux” for the daughter of one of the group members who has cystic fibrosis. Océanne told me that this song always reminded her of me and that one night, she had gone to a karaoke club and said that she had sang the song “at the top of my lungs so that the words would reach you all the way down in Florida”. Are you guys crying yet???
So being in a fighting mood this morning, I had to listen to a good motivating song on my way to chemo. I chose to blast “La Difference” and started singing at the top of my lungs until I had a mini explosion which thankfully did not last too long. I got to my appointment feeling empowered, ready to tackle this next infusion. Something has been going on at my doctor’s office and they have had a lot of turnover throughout the year. There was a note on the door today indicating that I had to go to a separate lab to get my blood drawn before my infusion (they always check my blood levels to make sure that I am fine before they start shooting the healing juices). They usually draw the blood from my infusion port right there on the spot and the nice thing is that I only need to be pricked once. At least the lab was in the same building but I was not too happy about it. I walked into the lab and was told there was a 20 minute wait, I was not too happy about that either! And they were not going to draw the blood from my port but had to stick another needle in my arm, I was not happy. My poor husband sat next to me, unruffled and calm as he always is. I was boiling but laughing at the same time. I kept telling him that it was ok to leave to go to work as this was taking a lot longer than expected. He said he would stay for the sake of my doctor, to make sure he could keep tabs on me (we were then both laughing). He did warn my doctor that I had the “fighting spirit” this morning. I think I did a pretty good job, I didn’t bite anyone’s head off but I still explained that I would not do this every time I had chemo and everyone was very understanding. They all assured me that they were temporarily short staffed. Ok, I will let it go, this time and we laughed at the fact that Bernie Siegel said that “exceptional patients” are a pain in the butt. Then my doctor asked me the following question: “except for the neuropathy in your hands and feet are you starting to feel pretty normal?”. Hum! that was a pretty loaded question. I said “I guess so” as I knew that she didn’t have time for a philosophical explanation of the fact that I didn’t think that someone with Stage 4 cancer could really feel “normal” again. But what is “normal” anyways? I am not sure asking this question to a psychologist is the best thing lol!!! But she really got me thinking and I will be blogging about this soon! In the mean time, I have been singing “La difference”, Océanne you have been fighting with me today. I love you dear niece.
Mes Aïeux – La Différence – (My own translation)….
I move forward
Despite the fears in my guts
And when the good news turn bad
In a hospital hallway
I move forward
A step, a small step
One small step at a time
The foot behind which pass in front (and continues)
A kick in the butt of badluck
“Mocking one’s expiration date” (best I could come up with!)
Another step, a small step
Small and giant at the same time (…)
I have courage in my luggage
A smile to soothe the storm
Your shoulder for sad days
Let’s see where it takes us (…)