Message from Ali
Hi Friends. It’s Ali.
On Friday, we celebrated. Quietly.
On Friday, my mom had her LAST chemotherapy infusion. This does NOT mean we’re through to the end of the tunnel quite yet, but the light is getting brighter. For me, that’s enough reason to celebrate.
The saying “life’s too short” gets thrown around often, but we have seen that truth firsthand. Knowing that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, nothing will stop me from celebrating good news, positive news or even a step in the right direction.
And it’s tough. We didn’t want to obviously celebrate in the infusion room at Helen Graham Cancer Center because this milestone day for us is the day others in that very building were being diagnosed, were pushing through terror as they got their first round of chemotherapy and were being told the devastatingly heartbreaking news that there are no more treatment options. Again, a reminder of how blessed I am. How blessed we are.
Keeping that knowledge in mind, but knowing the reality that we have no idea what the future may hold, I quietly celebrated – on the inside. Internally, I was doing back flips. As soon as I walked out of the Cancer Center, my smile seemed to be glued onto my face.
In a small way, my excitement was for myself – I’ve had 5 quality months with my mom since cancer crept back into our lives and tried to take her from me. Those months and the cancer diagnosis were a slap in the face for me. Apparently, cancer thought it wise to get involved with my family again. Who knows why – I know I’m not smart enough to know the answer and truthfully, I don’t think anyone has the answer. After my initial anger at cancer for rearing its ugly head again, I used it as an opportunity to step back and reflect. I took the opportunity to look at my already strong relationship with my mom and just make it even better. We’ve created great memories over the past 5 months. Would they have happened without a cancer diagnosis?
To an extent, probably. But I may not have truly seen and absorbed every ounce of beauty in our time together. The reality is that a huge unknown comes with a cancer diagnosis. Treatment plans may be unknown, the outcome may be unknown and future recurrence or late effects may be unknown.
I’m going to let you all in on a little secret – it doesn’t take a cancer diagnosis to step back and reflect on the great people in your life. On the unique qualities that make them so special to you. Do it NOW! Let them know – you will make their day! You don’t have to do it in person. If you’re like me and writing is more your style, go for it! Write a letter. Besides, who doesn’t love receiving mail and even better, a good old-fashioned handwritten letter?! Just tell them. Before it’s too late.
In a BIG way, my excitement was for my mom. She did it. She fought through the constant sick feelings, the metallic taste from the poison that is chemotherapy, the hair loss [side note: she TOTALLY rocks that bald head!], the blood work and the fatigue. All the while, she didn’t miss a day of work – no matter how badly she felt [hello! I can’t tell you how many conference calls she was on WHILE in the infusion room with chemotherapy being pumped into her body]. More importantly, through it all, she never lost her smile. She did it. She is kicking cancer’s butt and I couldn’t be prouder.
After leaving the Cancer Center, we went to lunch. There we celebrated. It wasn’t a huge celebration, because there are hurdles left to pass, but she deserves to be celebrated and recognized for all
she has endured for the past 5 months. With a toast of our water glasses, we turned our eyes to the next hurdle.
In a few weeks, after her counts have bounced back, she will begin radiation. Daily. For 6 weeks.
This is the next step towards the light at the end of the tunnel. We’re getting closer.
We got home and I did my last bit of celebrating. Some will say I’m jinxing us, but it had to be done. I had to close the chemotherapy chapter – hopefully never to be reopened. I emptied my “chemo bag”. It’s so totally twisted that I have a thing called a “chemo bag”, but I do and I’m not the only one. This has been my grab and go bag for each 4 hour round of chemotherapy. In this bag, you’d find things like a Kindle, a pillow and blanket, socks, an iPhone charger, snacks and gossip magazines. You get the idea – the essentials for sitting in a sad room for 4 hours while you helplessly watch your loved one get toxins to rid their body of a horrific, vicious disease.
With my “chemo bag” empty and chemotherapy checked off the list, we set our sights on radiation. I’m so ready to be at the end of the tunnel, but in the meantime, I’m celebrating the light at the end getting brighter as we creep closer and closer!