As unfathomable as it may be to imagine, yes - in fact there are among you my dear followers (all 60+ of you) an occasional reader who raises their cyber hand and reaches out with a question for the author. I'm always happy to field these inquiries, as it not only proves that someone really does read these seemingly self-serving soliloquies, but it provides free fodder to feed the machine that is a weekly blog post (this stuff doesn't write itself - you know!).
My anonymous follower wondered: Does the concept of the sudden intolerability when you knew you were leaving LA, now apply to the idea of returning to the more intense pieces of your previous treatment? Is it scary or overwhelming to think about chemo all over again? Do the things you've moved further from in time, thanks to you being in a phase of recovery, now turn back into things that seem unfathomable? No, no and no - thanks, and have a great day.
But seriously, it's an interesting situation to ponder. for me, The comfort of living with cancer (if those words can even be used in the same sentence) can foster a certain degree of complacency that allows a day to become a month and then a year, etc. You never really completely get away from "it" (the Big C - especially with the currently-incurable MM), but you do get used to it and learn to wrap it up with the rest of life's challenges. Rekindling the memories (and realities) of chemo et al, does initiate a blast from the past, but this time I feel more empowered and enlightened about what is and will happen to me (side affects vs. treatment benefits), and there is less darkness in the uncertainty. I knew going in that there would be setbacks, and potentially the eventual evolution to relapse (we're a looong ways away from that, however), but I wasn't sure when or how those bumps in the road would manifest themselves. Now that I'm staring at a first hurdle, it doesn't seem so high or hard to clear - all aided by what I've conquered and learned; fueled by enhanced tolerance.
In many cases intolerance grows out of ignorance or fear. I feel confident in my understanding of exactly what is happening to me and unafraid that this is anything other than a minor and understandable course correction. No two cancer patients are alike, no two treatment programs are alike, no two maintenance regimens are alike, and no two life-long outcomes are alike. But if I keep my wits and wittiness about me, this moment will also fit in my ever-expanding tolerance bucket, and soon become another diminishing image in my rear-view mirror (as the cancer car careens along its circuitous course).
