Good News & A Win | The Science is Sciencing

We are officially 3/4 of the way through the first phase of chemotherapy.

The symptoms are definitely starting to snowball, which is exactly what every doctor, nurse, and chemotherapy veteran warned me would happen.

I was hoping they were all liars.

Unfortunately, they were not.

The Red Devil

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It's honestly hard to wrap my head around the fact that just 11 weeks ago I was working full-time, getting ready to start clinicals for my senior year of a nursing program, and chasing my two-year-old around without giving it a second thought.

Now I need a strategic plan, a snack, and possibly a nap just to take the garbage out.

Being physically limited is frustrating. My brain constantly writes checks that my body cannot cash. I still want to do all the things. My body just reminds me every few minutes that it's currently busy fighting cancer.

And apparently that's a full-time job.

The exhaustion is unlike anything I've ever experienced. I thought enduring being a single mom with a newborn was what actual exhaustion felt like. I thought working long shifts in healthcare was tired. I thought pregnancy insomnia was tired.

Nope.

Chemo tired feels like someone unplugged your battery and forgot to tell you where the charger is. Then expecting you to power yourself on by sprinting on a hamster wheel that generates power. On the rare occasions my energy decides to make a guest appearance, I try to use it wisely. Sometimes that means cleaning up around the house. More often, it means spending time with Max.

Thankfully, he has enough energy for the both of us. Actually, probably enough energy for a small village.

Even when the bare minimum feels like climbing Mount Everest in flip flops, there is absolutely nothing that could keep me from spending time with him and making memories.

I try not to push myself too hard.

Keyword: try.

One thing this experience has changed is how present I am.

The other day I took the garbage out and came back inside to replace the bag. When I walked through the door, Max was standing there roaring like a dinosaur and demanding immediate attention from his exhausted mother.

Normally, I would've finished the chore first.

Instead, I spent a minute roaring back at him and pretending to be terrified of the world's cutest T-Rex.

Then I changed the garbage bag.

It seems insignificant.

But those little moments are everything.

The giant smile.

The chipped little tooth.

The toddler giggle that sounds like he's getting away with something.

Those are the moments that matter.

That little boy keeps me going every single day.

As difficult as chemotherapy can be, medically speaking, things are going really well.

My bloodwork has consistently looked great. My organs continue passing their weekly inspections. I haven't had any treatment delays, dose reductions, or scary complications.

Considering the circumstances, my body is doing a pretty impressive job.

Proof my fashion choices continue to decline

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Now let's discuss chemo brain.

Because wow.

I was warned about it repeatedly. I confidently assumed it couldn't be worse than mom brain.

Friends, I owe mom brain an apology.

In the last few weeks I have thrown away my shoes, put two books through the washing machine, washed my hands with toothpaste, and put Pinesol in the washing machine instead of detergent.

I had to Google if it was 2027 or 2026, after insisting it was 2027. Maybe I am from the future and living in Déjà vu, or maybe the chemotherapy symptoms are rearing their ugly head.

Chemo brain is somehow both hilarious and incredibly annoying. Sometimes it scares me.

The doctor even ordered a brain MRI just for my peace of mind to prove the circus happening inside my head is simply a side effect from some of the most powerful medication in the world.

You spend half the day laughing at yourself and the other half wondering if you've finally lost the last functioning brain cell you had left.

I’ve temporarily lost my quick wit, which makes me sad but I have faith it’ll come back. It’s one of my most annoying personality traits and I would be quite sad if it were gone forever.

To help combat it, I've been doing red light therapy, sitting in a sauna, meditating, and making self care a priority.

Whether it's helping my brain, my body, or simply preventing me from washing random household objects, it genuinely seems to be making a difference.

For now, we're taking it one day at a time.

Three rounds down.

One more Red Devil to go.

And then we move on to the next phase!

One thing I wasn’t expecting from all of this is how much it’s changed my perspective.

Cancer has taken a lot from me these last couple of months. My energy. My hair. My ability to do a hundred things at once without thinking twice about it. But somehow, it’s also made me appreciate the little things in a way I never did before.

A trip to the park with Max, him initiating a cuddle session on the couch, and hearing him belly laugh from the other room bring me twice as much joy these days.

A text from a friend checking in. A good lab result. A day where I wake up and feel halfway like myself again.

Those moments used to blend into everyday life. Now they feel like little jackpots.

Don’t get me wrong, this still sucks. I’d gladly return my membership to this club. But even in the middle of the hard, there is still so much good. There is still laughter. There are still memories being made. There is still hope.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s that life doesn’t stop being beautiful just because it gets complicated. Sometimes you just have to look a little harder to find it.

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I got my Signatera results back this week, and truth be told I wasn’t expecting good news.

At this point, every test has felt a little bit like opening a MySpace message from your high school boyfriend that starts with, “I’m just not feeling it anymore, we need to talk”. My brain has basically trained itself to prepare for the worst because of the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been stuck on the last few months.

So when I got the results, I was fully prepared to hear that cancer was still hanging out in my bloodstream.

Instead, my Signatera test came back negative.

Cue the ugly crying.

Not the cute movie cry. The real gross Kim Kardashian kind.

For the first time since all of this started, a test result gave me a reason to breathe a little easier.

The treatment is working.

We’ve stopped this monster from growing, reproducing, and setting up camp in new places. There is still a lot of cancer in my body that we need to finish evicting, so this isn’t the finish line by any means. But knowing there is currently no sign of cancer circulating through my bloodstream feels like a huge win.

For months, every piece of news seemed to come with another punch to the gut. This one felt different. Finally.

This one felt like proof that all the chemo, all the side effects, all the sleepless nights, all the steroids, all the swollen legs, and all the things that have made me wonder if my body was secretly auditioning for a science experiment are actually accomplishing something.

There is still work to do.

But for today, I’m celebrating this victory.

And cancer can stay mad about it.