The End of Chemo: Reflections, Remembrances and Readying for the World

Yesterday was my last chemotherapy appointment. After 4 ½ months and 16 infusions, I am finished with the first phase of my breast cancer treatment. For the past week, I have been battling severe, free-floating anxiety, which I now think had as much to do with the anticipation of this new change in my life as it did with all of the life-details to which I was attributing the stress. As mentioned in my last post, reaching this momentous occasion has been bittersweet. (In a much earlier post, I write about the mixed feelings many people experience as and after they finish cancer treatment.) Bittersweet because it means saying good-bye to all of the caretakers I’ve gotten to know at the Cancer Center; good-bye to Maggie’s packages of delight; good-bye to my routine.

But last night I realized that there is something much bigger burning beneath the surface. The end of chemo brings with it yet another significant and in many ways unknown life change, much the same way my cancer diagnosis did. With any significant change, uncertainties abound: What now? And, What do I want now? And, How do I actually make happen what I want now?  The unknown is, in and of itself, often scary (even when it is also exciting).

But it’s more than facing the unknown.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, all of the unknowns swirled around inside of me as my life transformed in ways that sent me INWARDS. Into my house, into myself. I was too sick to work, to socialize, to go outdoors.

With the end of chemotherapy, all of the uncertainties are once again swirling, but this time, as life is sending me back OUT. OUT into the world. And despite the fact that there are many ways in which I have always loved going OUT—love socializing, love traveling, love collaborating, love making new connections—going out into the world has also always come with a degree of fear.

Almost every morning, when I bring my 6-year-old Sophie to school (or say good-bye before sending her off with someone else), she clings for one more hug, often her eyes well with tears, she braces herself to leave my side and venture out into the world on her own. Amazingly, she goes; never has she grabbed hold and begged and cried (for which I have the deepest awe and respect). (Thankfully, it only takes her a couple of minutes to feel settled and safe in her classroom.) I understand her lingering completely–which only deepens my respect and awe. As a young child, I also struggled with school mornings—and then as an adult, with work mornings. I have always awoken to those mornings with a sense of loneliness and a touch of fear in my gut. I have always had to brace myself to face the wide and scary world on my own.

I think I am bracing myself now.

As I brace myself, I know that I desperately want to hold onto what I’ve learned these last several months about who I am, who I want to be, how I want to live. And I know it is much harder (at least for me) to stay grounded and true to myself when I also need to navigate the wide world and all of life’s realities.

But perhaps this is the meaning of life. Perhaps we—perhaps I—am here to find my truth, and then find ways to live that truth, not in a bubble, but in the day-to-day, real-life, wide and scary world.

Already I am feeling so much more grounded than I did over the past week. Perhaps it’s the newfound clarity rising to the surface. Perhaps it’s simply getting past the anticipation of the end of chemo and to the actual end of chemo. Whatever the reason, I am relieved and grateful to be more comfortable in my body (that the intense anxiety has eased for now). I am also feeling more excitement than fear (in this moment, at least! who knows what the next moment or tomorrow will bring!) about whatever might come next.

Before I close the door on my chemotherapy, I want to look back and remember and share with you the many wonderful people who took me to, and took care of me, during my 16 infusions.

Jen (on the right), my regular chemo nurse, who, after years as a hospice nurse, knew well how IMG_0420to take care of people in the midst of major life challenges and changes. Over the last several months, I learned about her four children and her police officer husband and her love of reading.

And Joanne (to my left), longtime nurse who then turned massage therapist about 20 years ago, after caring for her 6-year daughter old when she was diagnosed with cancer. (Her daughter is now 28 and healthy as can be.) Most weeks, Joanne would massage my shoulders or my face or twice, my feet, while we slowly got to know about one another’s lives and hopes and fears.

IMG_0518Kayla, who always took my vitals with a smile and brought me a warm blanket and chatted with me about our weekends and our children and made me feel welcome and safe and seen.

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Annie (aka “Borgy”), whom I designated as my god-mother when I was nine (despite the fact that she is Jewish, and I have never been religious); and whom I’ve always referred to as “another mother” to me, since she has known and loved and cared for me since the day I was born. She traveled 2 hours from Hunter Mountain—twice—to take me to chemo (and to take care of me during the aftermath). (Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of us during this time, but here’s a picture of her:)

Jenae, soul-friend-extraordinaire, who traveled three hours from Brooklyn to take IMG_3116care of me in the days before my parents arrived. During that time, she took me for my post-chemo fluids and steroids, which was identical to a chemo visit aside from what they were pumping into my veins, so I’m including her here (with a pre-chemo photo of us; she’s on the right).

IMG_0261My parents, Sula (aka “Amma”) and Harvey (aka “Zayde”) who took me to the bulk of my infusions, where we usually talked, sometimes did a bit of reading, very occasionally watched TV when I was too zonked to do anything else, and then toward the end, discovered the joys of travel Scrabble at chemo infusions!

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Maggie, my soul-mate, sister-friend for the last twenty-plus years (and the giver of all those chemo gifts), was usually teaching 2nd grade when I was at chemo, but thankfully had the chance to take me when she was on school break… and then Josh, who was doing a rotation next door, surprised us on his lunch break!

And my other (in addition to Maggie) nearest and dearest Northampton friends (who did so much more these past several months than take me to chemo):

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Hannah Ray! (left) and Keegan (right)

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Angela and Clover (left) and Jen and Nunia (right)

And I have to tuck in Jain here. Even though she never officially tookImage 3me to chemo, she did pop in for visits before and after and in between her midwifery shifts next door. (Again, no chemo picture, but here we are at an American Hustle dress-up party—Jain is the curly red head on the right of me in a wig.)

13 thoughts on “The End of Chemo: Reflections, Remembrances and Readying for the World

  1. hi love am honored to be part of your team of angels as your mom calls us all. so grateful the chemo part is over you are a blessing to all that know and love you, annie b

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  2. Dear Jenny, From a new translation of the Psalms entitled Psalms for Praying, An Invitation to Wholeness

    Psalm 57:

    Be merciful to me, O Beloved! I open my heart to You for in You is Love and Wisdom. In the shadow of your wings, I will find peace, until the fears that bind me are transformed.

    I cry to the Source of all life, to the Eternal One whose Plan is wholeness for all. Send your angels to awaken me, put to rest all that keeps me in darkness. Help me to live the Oneness we are eternally with Love Consciousness.

    With love, Jan

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  3. “Honor the space between no longer and not yet” -Nancy Levin
    This is a gorgeous post, dear friend. Love, love, love you. xo

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  4. Dear Jenny – I’m grateful for you in my world. It is an honor to be a witness to your journey. THANK YOU for sharing so much of your experience; the good, the scary, the beautiful.
    Congratulations on completing chemo!
    I love you, Nae

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  5. Jenny, I just read your entire blog, so honest and so eloquent. You are such a good writer and it means so much to me to be able to share in your journey from afar. Sending you so much love and support, Lu

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