The End of Active Treatment
After 14 months of cancer treatment, I am fucking DONE.
At the beginning of this whole journey, I thought there’d be a concrete end date. A date I could point to and say, yeah, that’s the day it was over. I’ve found, through lots of support groups, that I am not alone in struggling how to define being done with treatment. Am I in remission? I’m not sure doctors even use that word anymore. Most of us consider NED (No Evidence of Disease) or “cancer free” to be the ultimate end result. So there’s that – the no disease part. Then there’s the treatment portion – active and maintenance.
Most places consider “active” treatment to be chemo, surgery, radiation…those types of things. My Phesgo shot counted because it’s still considered chemo (minus the worst of the drugs). Last Friday, I received my last Phesgo shot in the leg. Thus, the END of ACTIVE treatment.
The hormone blockers don’t count as active treatment, though I don’t see why not. In my view, they’re worse than active treatment, but I guess you have to draw the line somewhere.
I met with my oncologist before my last treatment, who told me this time to do surgery vs medication when it comes to my ovaries, which is new. This time, she said surgery will be more effective with fewer side effects versus last time where she was wondering why I wanted to do surgery. So, I guess we’re going with that! Next step is all those appointments. She, of course, reiterated that I need to be on hormone suppressors, but I’ll get to that. One thing at a time.
I am pretty happy to be done with the active part of treatment! Though I’ll admit to sobbing afterwards. It felt like some kind of release. Fourteen months of not feeling your best self is pretty grueling (and that’s just the cancer part). I wish I felt more celebratory, which is kind of why I want to throw a party for myself. With what budget, I don’t know, but it’s better to share it with people.
After all, there’s a whole hoard of people who helped me get here.
To the Taco Team at large: I wouldn’t be here if not for you. Y’all kept my spirits up. Spent time and money to help me and the family out. Food, donations, cards, memes, t-shirts, text messages…you showed up, out of the goodness of your heart. You made me feel loved and supported, whether you were loaning out creative talents, buying Amazon offering advice, making/buying/delivering meals, writing letters, sending kid art, connecting people…all the things.
To my workplace and colleagues: it’s not your job to care about your coworkers, it’s just who you are. I don’t know a lot of company presidents who personally cook and deliver food to an employee. CEOs and board members who don’t care what time you need off and even try to take work off your plate. And to Jenna – who will always be the Boss with a capital B – who took on the burden of my absence. Thanks for letting me focus on my health. You’re the best cheer squad!
To my LMA family: and you are a family. I felt you all from afar. You’re so thoughtful and kept me smiling and laughing for months. Some of you even over my board duties so I didn’t have to think about anything other than kicking cancer’s ass, and HERE I AM! And there are several of you in particular who really went out of your way to start the GoFundMe, donate commissions or personal funds, run meal trains, share personal cancer experiences…you’re amazing humans, and I can’t wait to see you all at National. There will be hugs.
To my chemo buddies: Those long hours could have been filled with anxiety, but instead, they were full of laughs and memories. I looked forward to chemo infusions instead of dreading them – what a difference it makes. You flew on planes, took time off work, made small talk, and went out of your introverted comfort zones to hang out with me and keep my mind off of cancer. They’re cherished memories instead of days I want to forget.
And to Lindsay, in particular – there is no one I am more thankful for than you. I think a cancer diagnosis can be harder on the caregivers than on the patient, and I know you did more than I even saw. You made getting better easier (a very non-encompassing statement). So much coordination and time, thoughtfulness and effort. It’d take pages to list everything you did, and that’s the stuff I know about. “Thank you” will never suffice. The kids and I are more grateful for you than you can imagine.
So cheers to being cancer free and in maintenance mode! And to making 2023 MY BITCH, goddammit!
