After having lived through five of the scheduled eight chemotherapy treatments, I’m fairly convinced that no amount of nausea, diarrhea, fatigue, hair loss, or allergies to things I’ve never been allergic to before are going to kill me. I know this because each time I go for a treatment, which lasts up to five hours, I meet amazing people who dazzle me with their ability and will to survive and thrive under the most horrendous of circumstances.
A grandmother, whose chemotherapy has been ongoing for seven years and will continue until she dies, said with a smile, “I went to my daughter’s wedding and I watched the birth of three grandchildren.”
A 34-year-old equal rights activist whose colon cancer metastasized to her surrounding organs, finds time and energy to do a fundraiser for a friend without health insurance.
A creative writing teacher with both colon and bladder cancer, posts songs and poetry on his Facebook page.
A middle aged woman who endures ongoing chemo treatments five days a week with a month off every six months, laughs it off and announces, “It’s better than the alternative.”
Sitting in a room full of people who truly understand how precious their lives are make me wonder about the sanity of healthy people who flippantly assert that they’d rather die than suffer. Not me. I’ll handle a little suffering to wake up one more day.