First Big Hurdle Jumped (kind of);or How We Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace the Suck

Back in October, when Amanda was first diagnosed, we said to each other, "We are going to beat this.  It is going to suck, but we will beat it."  Later that same day we repeated this mantra with Yeats.  We repeated it again and again for the next few weeks, then we just remembered it in our hearts, because the fight had begun and the words did not need to be said.  The problem with saying things like that is that no matter how much you may mean them, you never really know what "suck" means until things really start to suck.  We revisited this whole suck thing when we were sitting in the ER a couple of weeks ago on a chilly Monday morning.  So that sucks.
Amanda had been exhibiting several classic cardiac symptoms.  Herceptin, one of the antibodies that she takes (And will continue to take until next October.) carries a small risk of heart failure.  So, when your body is showing those signs, you listen, or, in Amanda's case, you ride it out for a night without saying anything then bring it up the next morning.  Luckily, everything was fine in the cardiac arena, though she was definitely dehydrated.  A couple of bags of fluids later, we got home and she has since been choking down diluted Gatorade.  So that sucks.
TV shows and movies show the hair loss and the nausea, but those are not the only side effects, nor are those universal.  Amanda has been very lucky in that she has not had the nausea that so often affects patients.  However, the lack of nausea is balanced by all sorts of nasty gastric horrors, neuropathy in the fingers and toes, mouth and esophageal sores, possible (Likely in this case.) loss of a fingernail or two, fatigue, little to no immune system, shortness of breath while just sitting, anxiety, insomnia, and the beat goes on, la-di-da-di-dee.  So that sucks.
On top of those things are the little things in life that  we all take for granted.  Being able to stay awake with your child and watch a movie, go to a movie, go for a walk to the coffee shop, climb the stairs to the front door, leave the house without Imodium, sleeping without a hat to keep your head warm, not ruminating on the great beyond.  These are things that Amanda will never take for granted again.  Unfortunately, no one gains that sort of wisdom without going through something like this.  So that sucks.

Chemo sucks.  Cancer sucks.  Fuck you cancer.
No matter how I eventually kick the bucket, I want that written in neon on my two-story mausoleum.

Okay, so yes, that all sucks.  Still, there are a lot of people that we see every time we go into an appointment who are experiencing all sorts of different sucks, and some of those sucks suck way more than our suck.  Case in point, today Amanda had her last chemo infusion.  While this means that there will be another three weeks of all of the things mentioned above, plus whatever new side-effects manifest as they seem to do with each treatment, Amanda is going to take whatever it throws at her, because this is it.  First big hurdle jumped, now its that last 100 yards to the start line of the next set of hurdles.  When she finished her infusion, she went out to the middle of the infusion center and rang a big bell to let everyone know that she had finished her course.  This is a tradition in many cancer treatment centers.  The entire area erupted in applause and cheers.  Later, in the car, we hugged each other tightly and cried.  Partly with joy and, for me, pride, but there was also sorrow for those in the center who may never get to ring that bell.  Those people were cheering and clapping just as loudly as the rest.  People who were so sick that they could not even walk into the center under their own strength found the strength to cheer for my wife.  They remind us that there is a lot more love and hope and strength in the world than there is suck.  They remind us to embrace that suck and never forget the lessons that we learn from it.  They remind us that when you sometimes want to let that embrace slip into a bit more of a chokehold, that you are just going to wear yourself out and still be holding onto a whole lotta' suck.  And somehow being reminded of that doesn't suck.
Embrace your sucks, folks.  Learn from them, never forget them, but do not let them guide you.  More soon.  Love to all of you!

Some of Amanda's old co-workers came by to give her some last-day-of-chemo love.

Amanda's sister, Andrea gave this shirt as a farewell chemo present.

 

Our very good friend and personal breast cancer ass-kicker, Jennifer Wood-Thompson gave Amanda the gloves.  She knows first hand what it takes to knock this disease right out.