The end never comes...

The last couple of days have not been what I would call stellar. I haven’t quite decided if I’m just in a bad funk, or if the current treatment drugs are finally catching up to me. Or perhaps I just pushed to far.

I went to an Ultimate tournament this weekend. MOJO, my team, was traveling to compete in the Chesapeake Open. This tournament is held outside of Washington, D.C., in Poolesville, Maryland. It’s becoming a great tournament (it’s only been around a couple of years), and there was really good competition there. I didn’t play any points; I could have in one game on Saturday, but I instead decided to remain in my role on the sideline as sub-caller. I never realized how much energy this takes. I’ve done it before, as a player, and I never realized how intense it can be. Not being able to play has opened my eyes to many new angles about Ultimate—the game, the sideline, the energy. I think I learned a lot about my team after spending the entire weekend on the sideline, and I hope what I learned can help the team in future competition. I will say that it definitely zapped me—in terms of mental and physical energy.

I haven’t felt well the last couple of days—since Sunday, really. I know part of it involves my not being in my normal routine (whatever that is). And being out in the heat for 2 days certainly has an effect. But I am sure most of it is just my body dealing with the last few zaps of Taxol. I have only 2 of them left, but I suspect these will not be the easiest 2. I’m trying to not let it bug me—that I am not going to breeze through until the end. I have had an incredibly easy time compared to most. I see women every week in the treatment room who are there not for an actual treatment, but rather to receive something to help them through the treatment they got a week or 2 before. I haven’t received anything in between, other than the great support from the people around me. I wonder now how I would have done if I had asked for an IV, or some iron, or something else.

The hot flashes I get now are pretty incredible. I can feel them coming on, and in the moments before I break a sweat, they can be pretty uncomfortable. I still don’t really know how long I might have to experience these—whether my body will adjust or if this is just going to be how it’s going to be for awhile. Admittedly I was becoming pretty happy at the idea that in a few short weeks, perhaps my life would return to normal. I guess I’ve been kidding myself that normal means truly normal. And I realize that being a cancer survivor means that from here on out, I will always wonder if something is brewing inside or I’ll wonder what this little lump is. I think I was hoping for normal in terms of not having these crappy days that have no other explanation other than I’ve had a treatment. I might have to redefine normal in the end, because right now I’m not sure what normal will be.

I met a woman from another Ultimate team Saturday—she went through chemo for breast cancer last winter. She has her hair back. She has started reconstruction after a double mastectomy, although the expander on the left side had to be removed. She seemed a little frustrated at the whole process. I think the thing that struck me the most was that 7-8 months post treatment, breast cancer was still completely forefront in her head. If you do the math, that means come May of next spring, I will still exist in a state that still revolves around this situation. September 8th really isn’t the end. Well, it might be an end to something, but it’s not the end overall. I wonder if there ever will be an overall end.