Chapter 14: Rain

I rubbed rouge onto my cheeks, considered my reflection in the mirror, and frowned. I was pale and thin, and my eyes, which I used to think were too big for my face anyhow, were now massive, with pale, purple shadows underneath.

I looked sick, but there was not a lot I could do about that. I was sick.

I had one more treatment left, one more session of having the horrible, cold poison pumped through my veins. One more round of the vomiting, the shaking, the nausea, the tiredness, and then I was done with chemotherapy and could start living whatever time I had left again.

How we choose to react in a crisis is referred to as ‘fight or flight’. Stand your ground, or run to the hills. After the initial shock, I made up my mind I was up for the fight.

However, not every day was positive. Far from it. There were days when I seemed very lost in a long, dark tunnel, with nothing but a dim, barely-flickering light ahead. I had two choices: dive under the duvet, carry on crying and feel helpless; or get back and fight each time I got knocked down. A couple of times I chose the former. Mostly, I picked the latter.

I held on to that light, I trusted that it would eventually burn brighter and that I’d be out of the tunnel.

Rolf was generous in his offer of help. He fought at my side, but he wasn’t sitting where I was. This was my fight and no one, not even him, could have it for me.

My weight dropped, and my face grew thinner and paler. Then my eyelashes and my eyebrows fell out, too, and I felt bare, exposed, and sick whenever I looked at myself in the mirror.

It is said that Winston Churchill remarked during the Battle of Dunkirk, ’If you’re going through hell, keep going.’

This was my war on cancer. I couldn’t go back, and there was no escape. I had to keep going.

Another mantra that helped me was Abraham Lincoln’s ’One day at a time.’ On bleak days, I’d remind myself not to look back, as there was no point. I wasn’t going to look too far ahead and think that the worst was going to happen.

Instead, I just dealt with the here and now. Just get through today. Then try again tomorrow.

When I was made aware that BMT was the only chance I had to defeat cancer, I felt hurt confused, depressed, and helpless. I never knew my biological parents; I was all alone in the world with no blood family.

It wasn’t long before I realized that these emotions were like highly contagious germs. They not only infected me, but also infected Rolf, the nurses, the doctor, and all of those who cared about me.

After my first chemo, I left the hospital, with a bag of anti-sickness drugs, I was handed a pack of retractable needles and a sharps bin. Following chemotherapy, I would need to inject myself daily with medication to boost my white blood cell count, which would have been impacted by chemo.