Last Damn Chemo

Let me tell you about a woman named Emily. If you’ve run the New York City Marathon, you may know her as the “Last Damn Bridge” lady. Between mile 20 and 21 of the race, she stands on the Madison Avenue Bridge with a sign that reads “Last Damn Bridge” in big attention-grabbing letters. (Picture above was taken at NYC Marathon 2021 and has been modified with permission) She has gotten increasingly popular amongst runners over the years, with many stopping to take pictures of her and her sign. The humor and relief of seeing that sign is that up until that point, we have crossed the Verrazano, Pulaski, 59thStreet/Queensborough, and Willis Avenue Bridges. Not to mention we are 20 miles into one of the toughest urban marathon courses in the country. We are tired of bridges, they’re all uphill battles, our legs don’t appreciate the elevation change, and our lungs don’t need to be reminded that we shouldn’t have skipped so many training days. Nonetheless, we are glad to be on the last damn one, but we know the race isn’t over. It’s a milestone that represents being almost done. Not only is the race not over at mile 21, the remainder of the course isn’t easy either. We still must come down Harlem, the 5th Avenue climb, entry, exit, and re-entry of central park. At mile 26, we still have 385 yards to the finish line, and yes, its uphill. “Last Damn Bridge” serves as a reminder that the finish line is within reach, but not close enough that you can claim victory, give up on your goal, or decide to take it easy. It is an invitation to look inward and rise to the occasion. 

Falling apart in the last 6 miles of the marathon is a well-documented phenomenon known as the “hitting the wall.” This past November, I had to kneel for a minute at mile 25.8 because my knees and quads could barely cooperate-have I mentioned the hills? I am grateful to have received encouragement from those around me to get up and finish the last half mile, which equates to less than 5 more minutes of running. Things can fall apart in the final stages of any process, regardless of how simple they are or how much preparation went into it. Many surgeons can tell you that there are no “routine procedures,” and that the simple ones have their potential complications. We have seen come-from-behind victories in sports, space shuttles disintegrate upon re-entry, presidential elections end on a sour note, as well as the unpredictability of life take its course. For those reasons, I am reserving any celebrations until I get the official clearance. 

I am sighing a similar sigh of relief as I go through my “Last Damn Chemo” as I have come to endearingly refer to it. It has been a long 4 months, full of unpredictable turns, both good and bad. I know the process isn’t over until I cross the finish line and get medical clearance from my oncologist, but for now I would like to claim with confidence that the end is in sight. The fatigue, nausea, aches, and sores have gotten worse the past few weeks with the increased drug dosage, but I know the endgame is one of the most important indicators of success. The medicine will take its course, but if this is as bad as its going to get, and only for a few weeks, I’ll take it. 

I have read that marathon runners’ memory/impression of their race always starts off negative at the finish line, but as more time passes, they begin to remember the experience in a more positive light. The initial memory may be marked with pain, exhaustion, cramps, loneliness, months of training maybe topped off with a poor performance. As time for reflection passes, whether minutes or months, the marathon experience becomes a flag atop a mountain: success, perseverance, reaching a goal, overcoming physical, emotional and mental obstacles. The lessons learned, support of friends, and irreversible changes that take place have a lasting and positive effect on the person and possibly their community. I know my thoughts about cancer may be most negative right now because the symptoms are current, the scars are fresh, and the pain is ongoing, but I know that as time passes, I will look back at this period of my life as simply a rough winter. On my good days, I try to enjoy feeling relatively energetic and pain-free, I may even go out for a run. On my bad days, I remind myself that I am fortunate to have so few of them, they’re tolerable, and they won’t last forever. 

Nearing the end of chemo has allowed me to relax a little and begin marking so many routine tasks as my last: my last visit to the infusion center, my last oncology follow up, my last blood test, the last damn needle in my arm… The end of this process has made me think about it as a whole: did I do my best? What could I have done better? What lessons will I take with me from this experience? I have so many things to sort out in my mind. I regret not writing down more of my thoughts and experiences. So many ideas and questions and feelings and realizations have passed through my head since October. I may be reminded of some forgotten thoughts months down the line and be sure to write them down.

The paradox of going through chemotherapy is that it is supposed to be a time to focus on rest and becoming healthy again, but I feel guilty for not spending this time reading and writing and entertaining productive hobbies. I won’t get another 4 months like this again. Part of me feels like I could have made better use of it. I’m shrugging off that guilt by reminding myself that rest was more important than productive use of time. Why was I in such a rush to get back to normal? Going through an 18-week chemotherapy program has been difficult, but the road to full recovery and bringing my health back to where I want it to be is twice as daunting. These next few weeks mark the end of chemo, but it’s really the beginning of the rest of my life as a cancer survivor and all the health-related nuances and difficulties that come along with it. Not only do I need to bring myself up from my weakened state up to a baseline health, I need to work from that baseline up to the fitness level of a marathon runner by the end of the year. Besides working on my personal health, I texted some friends within the first month of treatments that there is so much good coming on the other side of this rough season. Some of the productive things I have done during chemotherapy is set up opportunities for growth, charity, teaching, and community that I am excited to get off the ground in the coming weeks. If this month marks the “last damn chemo”, I am looking forward to many “firsts.”