So I felt a bit like I was being punished for responding well to the chemo, since that was brought up today as a reason that I could deal with two more.
However, yesterday, there was a woman next to me in the infusion room who was there just to be hydrated because she's been really sick. After throwing up for a few minutes, she drifted off to sleep and I talked to her partner who was there. I asked if she was OK.
This is a piece of her story:
She has ovarian cancer, had surgery, had treatment, went into remission. Remission lasted 10 months. She's having more treatment (and maybe another surgery in there?). She'll likely go back into remission, but the remissions will get shorter.
I thought of this today because she was supposed to have six treatments of whatever drugs (different than mine) and only had three because she was reacting so badly to it.
So ... better to have two more precautionary treatments since I can handle it than to get only half of what was prescribed because I couldn't handle it.
You can't play the sympathy card with the cancer. It doesn't give a shit.
One of a million little reminders that while I am cranky about where I'm at, it could be way worse.
In the meantime, my coworker's husband's cancer killed him.
It wasn't me. It could be worse.