So yesterday was the last part of round 4 of six chemo treatments.  It was hard.  Mentally, physically, and every way you can imagine, I've about had it.  Yes, I know if I sit back and analyze my progress to this point that I'm doing good.  The doctor and nurses and my family and friends all think so.  On the surface it is true.  My counts are low but not so low that I have to do other measures or postpone treatments.  The chemo is working on the cancer and I'm not puking.  Sure.  All good things, and believe me, I'm truly thankful.  But that's my sane rational self.  Deep down I feel like I'm falling apart. 

At this point, chemo feels like torture.  That's one of the hardest things about cancer and doing chemo treatments.  One is as bad as the other.  I'm already a mess, being scared of having a recurrence.  It was a dim enough prognosis the first time when I was told I have advance cancer.  I can't help but think that a recurrence just confirms that.  I want to get better.  I want my life back.  I want to grow old with my husband and not leave him a widower.   So I fight this cancer.  I want to do the treatments to kill off every one of those horrible cells.  If chemo is what it takes, then bring it on.  But the reality of it all is that the treatment itself is awful.  I want to conquer cancer but it means having to endure something equally as awful.   So how can I rationalize this?   

I can't.  It's just a sad reality of having cancer.  I have to do the treatments if I'm to get my wish of growing old along side of my husband.  So when I have the aches and pain and endless days of feeling rotten, I complain and act out my frustrations.  But on my better days, when I can focus on the big picture, it's then that I can see the end and know it's worth every ache and pain.  I can see the time when I won't have any more treatments.  I can see when I'm back living my life.  I can see a future...