Watch That First Step

I'm sitting here halfway into my second week of chemotherapy.  Seven and a half weeks remain.

I'm tired, but that seems to be par for the course.  Some of the normal symptoms of chemo have started to manifest themselves.  I sleep a lot, I eat a little bit less (which isn't a bad thing), I drink a lot of water, I've watched a lot of TV (if you have access to HBO, I highly recommend True Detective), and I've spent more time in a cancer clinic than I ever thought I would.  I haven't worked in a week and a half, although I'm hopefully going to get clearance from my doctor to start back on a part time basis as early as next week.

The support I've received from all sides has been overwhelmingly humbling, even from the strangers I've met in the infusion rooms.  The worst day was yesterday.  I had my Bleomyicin injection yesterday, a short half an hour trip into the clinic.  That went well, I felt fine walking out a driving home.  When I arrived home I took a shower and a nap.  When I woke up I felt bad, really bad.  I was exhausted, I experienced neuropathy for the first time in my life, tinnitus was almost constant.  It has been the worst I have ever felt in my life.  I laid on the couch for several hours, not really able to get up and move, even if I had wanted to.  My symptoms came and went throughout the rest of the day.  I have to say though, if that's as bad as its going to get, I'll manage.  I managed to pull up a poem on my phone during my period of languish, Invictus by William Ernest Henly, a poem that has been a constant companion on this journey:

"Out of the night that covers me,

      Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

      I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

      Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

      How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

      I am the captain of my soul."

The poem was written while Henly was recovering from leg amputation surgery as a result of complications from Tuberculosis.  I suppose I could be mad, I have been in the past, and as written before I see no problem with anger, I suppose I still am.  But I know on the other side of this mess is opportunity.  I've had a lot of time to think, a lot of time to realize what matters, and a lot of time to figure out what I want out of this life and what kind of legacy I want to leave behind.  And I'll have plenty of time to do it.