Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): It is day five of COVID. I thought I was getting better but I lost my smell and taste this morning. Where did it go? I don’t know. This week I have no appointments. I get a small break. Monday, January 16 I will see my oncologist and get my Zoladex injection. I don’t see the radiologist for a follow up until March 22.

TO THE SHORT VERSION!

Cancer patients celebrate any and every milestone. You woke up today? Celebrate! You went to chemo and didn’t puke? Blessings! You pooped?! Gold star! Everything becomes worth noting because you are still fucking here and still going through the shit.

And then you get milestones like this that almost feel too surreal: you finish active treatment. No more chemo or radiation? Are you sure I did it all? Are you sure I consumed enough poison? Because I don’t want to do this again. Please don’t make me do it again.

I am done with active treatment. The end has finally come 11 months after a dark diagnosis. My chest has been fully cooked and now my spine too. And now I wait. I wait to get more scans. I will see my oncologist on January 16 to go over things. I will do my maintenance drugs for the next 3-5 years. I will get breast reconstruction within the next year. And I hope I get to see those sweet words on my CT that say “no evidence of disease.” Or something like that.

As a friend typed on my Facebook status, “You did it! You didn’t want to, you shouldn’t have had to, but you did the damn thing.”

Yeah, I did that shit. I trekked hundreds of days through my personal hell! And I have hundreds more to go to get the fuck out of here!

I need a flashlight. I’m lost.

Also, they ~almost~ did not let me ring the bell again. I left treatment and the radiation tech was like, “You’re sick you probably shouldn’t touch it.” I mean I get it, but also like I can wash my hands five times and we can disinfect the bell after. It’s not like I am making out with it. I just pull a string really hard. With my hand. Not my mouth.

I was placed in a small room where patients wait at when they come in on the ambulance to wait for my non-assigned radiologist to basically look at me and tell me to go. The nurse came in to do my vitals and she was like, “Did you ring the bell already?” I told her someone said I couldn’t and she was like, “I have gloves. You can wear a glove.” So I wore a glove. I was the last patient in the building and my audience was just me, the nurse taking my photo, and two of the techs. They clapped and I heard the front desk folks cheering for me. It felt very anticlimactic but I got my ring.

Then the radiologist came in and handed me the aftercare paper and was like, “Well, I guess there is no point giving that to you since it was just three treatments so you won’t have any side effects. But call if you do I guess.”

Awkward silence.

“Oh okay. Um, thanks,” I mumbled through my N95. “Do you want to see my chest to make sure it is looking okay?” “Sure,” she said weirdly. I lifted up my sweater, she glanced at it and said, “Looks fine to me. You heal really nicely!” And then I scurried out of the room like a subway rat looking for day old pizza. Call me mad rat. It was literally the most pointless appointment of my life. It literally could have been an email. And my insurance is going to get charged like a $1000 for our interaction. Watch. I will show you all it when I get the charge.

I came out to my car and my best friend Sue had placed some goodies on it. We social distance cheered and danced. I then met my sister after and she treated me to some to-go sushi. I was grateful that two people decided to show up for me but it also just made me feel sad.

COVID literally ruins everything I do. The celebration of being done with active treatment has been halted because of this stupid virus. I should have been out partying, getting randos to buy my cancer ass some drinks! I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs that I consumed chemo like a champ (since my tumors only had partial responses) and I made radiation my bitch (aka I literally laid there and did nothing!) Instead, I stayed home all weekend with my cats and watched raindrops race each other down my window. And my friend Cindy brought me a strawberry milkshake yesterday. SHOUT OUT TO CINDY. That was a nice highlight. Glad I got to enjoy it before I lost my fucking taste and smell.

I really think maybe someone cursed me. COVID really loves me. COVID, why are you so obsessed with me?! Today I lost my smell and taste. This shit is getting really old. I am literally sitting here as I type with menthol on my nose and I cannot smell anything. If it doesn’t return, I will lose it. LOSE IT. COVID has been the bane of my fucking existence since December 2020. I have a mild headache and I am still testing positive for COVID. Cool cool cool cool cool.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Calvin Harris.

“Baby, this is what you came for
Lightning strikes every time she moves
And everybody’s watchin’ her
But she’s lookin’ at you, ooh, ooh”

– This Is What You Came For, Calvin Harris, Rihanna