Tomorrow is my last injection, the last of my monthly visits to the oncologist’s office. The last time I have to stand in the injection room and have a nurse stand so close to me, we could be kissing, and slowly, slowly, slowly, inject that cold, cold, magic medicine into my soft belly. Last time, for awhile, I will make small talk with the technicians while they draw my blood and take my vitals. Last time I have to remember not to say something awkward to the one who lost her daughter during my chemotherapy and who hung on me, weeping, when I told her the good news that my cancer was gone.
I am so ready to have this done. I am so ready to move on with my life, to start working on what the rest of it is going to be like, to start living like I’ve got some kind of future that does not include weekly or even monthly visits to the doctor. My emotions are not mixed. I have one solid emotion and it is relief. Relief and joy and oh my god I can not believe how all of this has turned out.
People, I’m ALIVE. I’m alive and I am finished and the cancer did not kill me and I am going to complete this marathon of pain and violence and grief standing on my fucking feet. Fuck, yeah.