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I wouldn’t recommend the Chemo Club to just anyone. In fact, I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone unless they have locked horns with that devil we call cancer. Mentally, it holds the promise of tomorrow, but inside you know that you’ll be dealing with it.... struggling with it.... fighting it.... killing it. The “it” being the c-word. Sometimes you’ll feel sicker then you’ve ever felt. At other times you’ll feel like you are dying. I think of losing my hair, which became a fairly minor event in retrospect, but was something that burdened me for weeks. It is the yin/yang of the dread of knowing how the chemo makes you feel and looking forward to the deeply held belief of the promise in another treatment. Both the dread and the promise are mixed together on a weekly basis like the harsh chemicals that they drip into your veins. It is the not knowing. It is the self-doubt. It is pity parties, when I’m the only invited guest. It is walking into the clinic and seeing other women. Some with much worse cases than me and seeing the fear of the unknown in their eyes as they still hold onto hope, but it all hurts just the same. It is the moaning in pain. It is wondering if this will work. It is thinking about not being here. It is the pain. It is the discomfort of needles. It is uncontrolled sobbing. It is hoping that you’ll be able to watch your grandchildren grow up. It is, first and foremost, facing the grim reaper and looking him square in the eyes and shouting, “Hell No! I’m not ready and I will fight you to the end!”
It is also getting to know the caring doctors and nurses that fight in this crusade on a daily basis and still maintain a positive attitude toward all their patients. It is the dozen beautiful red roses that were waiting for me at the end of my first treatment. It is the  calls and visits from family and friends to show their support and love. It is the thrill of the birth of a grandchild. It is the smile from seeing my husband’s bald head after he shaved it in support of me! It is talking to my daughter on the phone, about nothing in particular. It is the visit of my loving mother that came to help and support me. It is petting our dogs. It is walking out to get the mail. It is waking up, making coffee and standing on our deck to watch the morning come to life. It is listening to birds sing. It is the look in my husband’s eyes and knowing that he loves me. It is going for a drive. It is the taste of hot salsa and a cold margarita. It is the feeling I had when my stepson ran in the “Race Against Cancer.” It is standing out under the night sky and wishing upon a star. It is dining out with my in-laws. It is watching an old black and white movie. It is breathing. It is the fun of wearing wigs and taking them off. It is feeling bad and good at the same time. It is an afternoon rain shower. It is packing my husband’s lunch for work. It is, first and foremost, looking at life and gaining a better understanding of all the little things that make it so very, very special.
It is realizing that this harsh life event has enabled me to develop into a better person. A more caring, more loving, and more conscious person. We can focus on all the negatives or we can focus on all the positives. Sometimes the line between them isn’t all that clear. Sometimes the gray area is where life happens. It is accepting all of it and finding your place. It is the Tao. It is a form of self-enlightenment and I was enlightened by cancer.
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