FOLFOX Again...

Well, I am home now from my latest chemo session. Everything went fine at the cardiologist's office today -- my heart looks great and the doctor said that I am in great cardiovascular condition -- and so he gave me the "green light" to continue with chemo. Pete and I met briefly with Dr Gullion before getting started and he left the decision to me as to whether to stay on FOLFOX or switch to FOLFIRI. As far as I was concerned, though, there was no decision to be made. Both Michael and Dr Gullion agreed that FOLFIRI is not yet totally proven and FOLFOX is. And since I have never been a gambler, I chose FOLFOX.

Like I told the cardiologist on Friday, as long as they could give me some confidence that I was not doing permanent damage to my heart I wanted to continue. The fact that all of my prior symptoms were 95% gone by this morning also helps -- as long as I know that everything I am feeling is only temporary, I can keep going. So now, the challenge is for me to stay focused on the fact that my body will heal as the side effects take hold and try to trick my mind into thinking otherwise!

So as here I sit with the third dose of FOLFOX coursing through my body, searching and destroying any and all fast-dividing cells, I can't help but think that I am, yet again, walking through fire (and, unfortunately, having intense hot flashes to prove it -- phew, my body really does not like what's being done to it!) Shannon half-joked that heading into chemo must feel a bit like "putting your hand into a moving blender." She is right -- this is exactly how it feels! I just prefer to use the euphemism of "walking through fire" since it sounds more dramatic (and less messy--hee, hee!) But either way, the emotional hurdle is the same.

Dr Gullion commented today that he thought I was incredibly courageous and that he admires the bravery that I have shown through this whole ordeal. I appreciated his words of encouragement -- they mean a great deal to me, especially coming from someone who has seen and treated hundreds, or probably even thousands, of cancer patients -- but I told him that I don't think of myself as brave. I really don't. I guess that there is an element of bravery in the fact that some people completely give up; they just can't handle how difficult of a physical and emotional rollercoast cancer treatment can be. And so, maybe the fact that I am continuing to "put my hand in a moving blender" can be construed as bravery. But the reality is that I don't think the choices I am making are any different from those that any other mom/wife/daughter/friend would make in my shoes: I have a hell of a lot to live for and, far as I can tell, only one clear path to the top of my mountain. So, from my perspective, it's not like I am choosing one path over another. From my perspective, there is no choice.