I thought I’d be happier about my last round of Chemo.

But truth be told, it just doesn’t seem like it’s over…

My journey certainly isn’t (yet).

However, my last round of Taxol (with Herceptin #4/#17) was Tuesday March 31st, 2020.

I only wore my wig for my final round of chemo thinking I might take pictures or a video… oh well!

It was a 6-hour hospital visit.

My parents helped me pack a bag for the day (full of food, comfort items, and entertainment) since I’d be going in alone (thanks again, Corona virus…)

They dropped me off, gave me a hug— hand sanitizer in tow. I had my bag with me and I joked about it feeling like “the worst first day of school ever”. I felt like a sad little child heading into school for the first time. The emotions were much the same. Unsure. Uneasy. Nervous. Afraid.

The hospital felt like a movie set. Or a scene out of an apocalyptic-style zombie-flick.

The parking lot was pretty empty. The hallways insanely bare. The staff wore masks, robes, and gloves. Signage about the virus plastered everywhere. Tape to indicate where to stand and where to walk. Extra hand sanitizer stations set up about each floor. I walked in and was questioned in regards to the Corona Virus. Did I have any of the symptoms? Did I show signs of having it? I wish I had had a mask and gloves too, but tough luck, I suppose. I was given a card to show the admin at the chemo ward that I hadn’t just snuck in without being screened at front door.

I got in right away as it was quieter than usual that morning… Your ass goes numb by the end of these long chemo days even though the chairs are comfortable. You sit hooked up to the machine… coming in and out of consciousness… for hours on end. I always got so anxious on these longer chemo days— I just wanted to stand up, run around— move! To see outside. To no longer stare at a blank wall. Or fellow cancer patient (likely thinking the same thing…) I could hear a woman sobbing from somewhere else in the unit, and that made me extra sad.

In the time I was there, my cancer ‘neighbour’ beside me changed 3 times.

The first, an older man who sat in silence and needed assistance walking out. The second, a middle-aged woman with terrible allergies— it was her first time there… and the third, an older man who was very bitter about his situation. He told me (more like complained in my direction) how his pension would be wasted away, how he had been hospitalized with a fever for 8 hours just yesterday, how he can’t believe how long it takes to get chemo… it was his first time too… and I felt bad for him. But he wasn’t looking to chat… just get things off his chest… and so I knew it didn’t matter how I responded, he wasn’t going to be happy today…

This was supposed to be a victorious chapter…

But I didn’t get to ring the bell.

The nurses were quiet and stressed— not as happy-go-lucky, chatty, and chipper as they usually were. I didn’t bother asking about ringing the bell. It didn’t feel right. Nor did they suggest it when I told them it was my final round.

It just become another necessary step to my journey.

This is survival.

I’d be lying if I were to say I’m not a little upset.

Who doesn’t picture cancer patients ringing the bell? Bursting into tears of victory?

I know I do…

But this isn’t a ‘poor me’ post.

This is yet another test of my strength (and oh boy, the world is testing me this year, haha).

I simply thanked my nurse and walked out.

I got my favourite flavour of DQ Blizzard afterwards and napped. That was my hurrah. Which is okay because I love ice cream. I had asked my parents to go through the drive-thru for me.

I tell myself “I’ll ring it sometime next year”.

Since I’m triple-positive, I’ll be back every 3 weeks for injections of Herceptin for a year anyway…

At least the longest of days are now over!

And my hair will start growing back in about a month!

So it’s not that I’m not happy. Or appreciative and thankful. I’m just tired and unsure…

And to be honest… the hardest thing lately has been the solitude.

The things I wanted to do after chemo/before surgery have become not possible.

I wanted to travel. To go to an all-inclusive or something and feel the warm sunshine on my skin.
I wanted to visit my coworkers and friends back home in Ottawa.
I wanted to go dancing downtown Vancouver one last time in a dress that makes me feel beautiful— in the body I will no longer have come May.
I wanted to have a celebratory drink with my best friends.
I wanted to go on a date.

I wanted to do MORE before surgery and my next chapter…

But cancer doesn’t take breaks.

And these are the cards I’ve been dealt.

I am so afraid of the next steps. The surgery… the possible radiation… the final results… the constant monitoring of my heart… the next year of Herceptin… more medication to follow for the next decade of my life…

I had agreed with my plastic surgeon on a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction.

Now there is talk of surgeries being put on hold.

Or that they will not do reconstruction because ‘it is elective’.

The one positive I have held in my mind is that my body can be crafted to look semi-normal.

I want to have my symmetrical fake breasts— to maintain shape, size, and eventually get nipple tattoos to look ‘normal’.

I may have no choice but to lose one breast and stay flat.

To say that scares me is an understatement.

I am not large-chested to begin with. I am not one to think that your body is the only thing that can make you feel or look feminine. Or beautiful. Or whole.

But as a 29-year old single woman, that hurts. Because I know what that means.

It opens up a can of worries, fear, anxiety, and depression.

And questions…

Who will love me?
How will I look at myself and feel okay?
How will I fit into clothing? How will I walk around confidently in my clothing? (Or lack thereof?)
Will I ever find a partner who is attracted to me? Will I settle for less because of this?
Will I retreat and hide from the world in the future… more so than I already naturally do? And am forced to at the moment?
How will this affect me mentally? Short term? Long term?

Again… all that should matter is that I beat cancer.

“Beggars can’t be choosers” is what pops up into my head every time I’m sad about my situation.

It’s easy to think “just be happy you’re alive, Steph”. I know, I force myself to tell myself that daily.

That IS all that matters to me in the end.

I can live with the hot flashes, the inability to bear children, the removal of my breast, the awkward dating in trying to find a partner who will look past my physical appearance, the hormonal acne, the scars, the mental struggles…

All that matters to me is that I beat this. That I live my best life after this chapter is complete.

It’s just hard being stripped of everything you ever had.

The comforts I knew this time last year are all gone.

My partner. My love. My best friend.
My dog and little family.
My own apartment.
My health.
My ability to work full time and continue to save for a future.
My ability to change my hair and feel good about myself.
My ability to travel and leave the house.
My ability to hug friends and laugh with them in-person.

Life can change in an instant. You cannot predict it. You cannot remain perfectly comfortable at all times.

And you sometimes have NO CHOICE but to roll with the punches.

You just have to see what’s next in store and keep moving! Be proactive, but also be aware that your plans can and will change. Adjust accordingly.

Hold your head high. Not every moment will be dark and gloomy. You will see the light again (even just in glimpses!)

I have so much to be thankful for. To be hopeful for.

So there you have it.

That’s my final chemo chapter complete.

It’s not a beautiful one.

It’s not what I had pictured.

But it’s part of my story.

And I just have to trust that good things are coming.

Because I know I deserve it.

Hoping my skin will clear up… not sure if it’s from Taxol, steroids, or Herceptin…

And all you amazing supporters of mine deserve good things too!

I’m thinking about you— those with newborns, those taking care of their elderly family, those without income, those unable to afford rent, those with other illnesses… I see you. These are uneasy times. And I’m here if you ever want to chat.

Feel free to email me at shestaysstrongblog@gmail.com or to follow me on Instagram for daily updates @shestaystrongblog

Thank you again for reading and supporting me. It means everything to me. XO

#StayStrong #SheStaysStrong