Good Friday, 2016 – I began my first round of chemotherapy.
Good Friday, 2017 – I finished my last round of chemotherapy.
This past Friday I finished my herceptin chemotherapy. I didn’t share much about taking herceptin because it’s a low dose of chemotherapy and quiet frankly doesn’t make me sick. After being on four different, painfully awful chemotherapy drugs, herceptin is a walk in the park.
There are been a mix of emotions with the end of chemotherapy. I am so grateful to be done, but sad to not see my infusion nurses every few weeks. I am so grateful to not have cancer in my body, but sad to not have such a close relationship with my doctors.
Today was even more mixed emotions.
I had my port removed.
It seems weird, I’m sure, but I have become attached to my port. It’s become a security blanket to me. Something I truly hated, has become something I love. My port means my body is fighting. My port means I am winning. My port means cancer is defeated.
My port has become part of me. This small contraption has signified so much in my life and now it’s gone.
I processed these mixed emotions with some friends yesterday, and today was reminded by a sweet friend to take the time I need to grieve. Grieving over the loss of a port sounds odd when I think about it, but grief isn’t meant to look a certain way. So today I’m going to shed some tears for my port and all that it did for me.
And tomorrow I will celebrate my first day as a new creation – one without a trace of cancer or cancer related relics in my body.