Last Treatment

I had my last chemo today, and true to form, I had to have one last dose of Neulasta. I was hoping that we could just let it slide, but my oncologist didn't think that was a good idea, and who am I to argue with all those years of medical school? Actually, I saw my oncologist working in an emergency capacity today helping a patient who had an extremely adverse reaction to chemo (I thin we can define respiratory arrest as an extremely adverse reaction) and he was calm, decisive, and in the end completely effective. My oncologist, Dr. Adoo, is an impressive man.

Not that I'm in any great screaming hurry to see him again. My chemo protocol is complete, and he believes that my prognosis is excellent. I'm scheduled for a bone marrow biopsy a month from now, but it's a routine thing, one of the hurdles one has to leap before one earns the coveted title of Cured. Right now, I'm technically just In Remission, but the chances of being cured are excellent. As much as I like and trust my oncologist, I'd be just as happy if I never had to see him again after the bone marrow biopsy.

I feel like someone has lifted a 300-pound weight off my shoulders. I feel like I can breathe again, like I can make plans for the future that actually mean something and won't be trashed by chemo or cancer. I feel just as bad as ever physically, but mentally and emotionally, I'm a free man again.

(This is liable to sound a little silly, but it is an accurate chart of how my thought processes go. I've always wanted to build the ultimate model of the Saturn V booster. To that end I've been stockpiling parts for a while - the Monogram kit, the New Ware detail set, the New Ware decals, the RealSpace Models batted F-1s and Block-II CSM and BPC, a cardstock launch tower and so forth. But this is easily a year of work, especially the cardstock launch tower, and all of a sudden when you have cancer and you're going through chemo, projects of a year or more seem utterly unrealistic. Nobody has any intention of dying, but the possibility always lurks in the back of one's mine, and one thinks things like "Do I really want to spend six months on a year-long modeling project only to have to abandon it half-done because of badly deteriorating health?" But now that chemo is over and cancer is all but over, I'm suddenly not daunted in the slightest by the year-long Saturn V project, and may indeed start working on parts of it this weekend.)

I feel like dancing. I wonder if Ty Murray is free.