A Decision

Today was a chemo day. I went to the hospital to visit my doctor. He asked me about the excessive nausea I’ve been feeling the past few months, and whether I’ve seen any improvement in my energy over the last few weeks. I responded that the nausea was better at times, but that the fatigue had become worse the last few weeks. He examined my lymph nodes, listened to my chest and asked if there was anything else I wanted to discuss.

Yes.

I told him that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue with chemo for another year and a half. I haven’t been able to find anything documenting the risk a patient in my situation faces by terminating the protocol 18 months prematurely. He shrugged and admitted that he didn’t think such conclusive research existed for ALL patients, especially not for a 26 year old. If I were ten years old right now, the risks might be clearer. But as a young adult, I’ve been charting new territory from day one.

What about a break? Maybe three months or so, to collect my strength, a second wind? He argued that by taking a break, we’d be treading even lesser known waters. Truthfully, there is no way for me to have a sure assessment of what my risks are, not enough to base a decision off of. I’ve heard this before, many times. Second opinions, third opinions. All have agreed that there’s no way to truly assess what I’m risking if I quit. But this time, the implication registered. I’ll never have an absolute surety that one way is more right than another. The peace I keep waiting for to direct a decision will not come. I must decide regardless.

What would it look like, I asked, if I ended in a few months? He said he’d advise me to come for regular check-ups for the first year, at least once every few months. I nodded. That’s it? No new medication to wean me off chemo? No. I know I want chemo at least today, I replied, because I’ve already…I paused. The words sounded ingenuine. No. No, I don’t need more time to make this decision. I told my doctor that I didn’t want chemotherapy today, and that I wouldn’t be receiving it anymore. He nodded, closed his file, shook my hand and said he’d see me in September. When he left the room, I picked up my bags and the ladies behind the desk asked if I’d like to reschedule now. No thanks. They wished me a beautiful day and I left the hospital. Nothing out of the ordinary.

So I guess just like that, overcast morning in June, I’m finished with chemotherapy.