This is my journey.
I’m climbing Everest in flip-flops and a sarong without a Sirdar. It’s an ascent that must be made free solo. I know I’m imperfectly attired but its the best I can do and I trek ever onwards. I’m ascending at altitude now.
My final FEC chemo is next Tuesday, assuming blood counts are high enough for it to proceed. Please let that be the case. FEC3 is a major milestone, it marks the end of this particular kind of chemo, bye-bye 5-fluorouracil, epirubicin and cyclophosphamide. I won’t be sorry to see the back of you. (I know Taxotere is challenging, I’ll deal with those bergshrunds when I find them).
On Tuesday my bivouac will perch once again on a rocky ledge. This camp marks the half-way point in my chemo journey, I am relieved, exhilarated, overjoyed. This milestone is simply fan-fec-ing-tastistic. I know all too well that the accompanying nausea, headaches and ulcers are unpleasant, a test of stamina on verglas covered aretes. But the climb, at least the chemo part of it, will be 50% achieved. I’ve avoided any zipper falls thus far and as a flat-lander I’m very happy with that.
The next two days are days to venerate, free of drugs and discomposure, unbroken sleep brings me dreams of wellness, a new life and a new dance beneath the Northern Lights.