Chemo is Coming

Tomorrow is Chemo Day again. John will spend four hours at the oncology center then wear the infusion pump for the next 48 hours. I am nervous each time. What will the blood work say? He has been more tired and his mouth is sore more often now. The pain and tingling in his hands is more frequent so I think that means that the chemo is digging in. Does that mean it’s “working”? Killing cancer cells or just killing all of his fast reproducing cells?

I am recognizing my own unsettledness on this day before chemo. I have the logistics down: I pack the bag: we take books and magazines to read, I take extra magazines to leave at the chemo center (they have terrible magazines there—all about cancer) I also pack our I Pods and snacks for both of us, and take the Blue notebook for taking notes when we meet with the doctor. In this day before chemo I am also bracing myself. I lose him during these chemo weekends and the loss gets longer each time.

He’ll be distracted on Friday, and annoyed by the pump and side effects on Friday and Saturday. The tiredness will begin Saturday so he’ll take more naps and be more drowsy. It’s hard to feel connected in those days. I get needy and so I have learned to make plans for the weekend now.

Being at home watching him sleep on the couch or being aware that he has more pain makes me feel lonely and afraid. Each time I lose a bit more of him and each time I am reminded of how serious this is. I have to watch my own anger too. A couple of sessions ago I realized that in the pre-chemo days I get stirred up and angry. I’m mad at chemo and mad at cancer but it’s so easy to forget that cancer is the problem and instead think that John is being unkind or inattentive or to start to make a case that he is not committed to this relationship. My fears stir and I flail inside. My head starts to tell me that he doesn’t love me, that he will leave me. My heart knows that cancer and chemo are taking him away.