When

A few posts ago, I wrote about concentrating on the idea of if the cancer comes back, not when. All I got to say is when is now.

I received the official word the night before Thanksgiving that my most recent PET scan showed a slight enhancement on my liver and that there was a new spot on my rib.  My oncologist calls it an early progression, and is starting me on the chemo Kadcyla next Friday. Kadcyla is a combination of chemo and Herceptin, and delivers the chemo directly to the cancer cells. It is supposed to be much more gentle. I get to keep my hair.

Frankly, keeping my hair is no consolation. I'd rather keep my life. But here we go again. I was hoping and praying the Herceptin and my body would keep the cancer at bay for years. My oncologist tells me I exceeded her expectations for how long I would stay stable. Seriously? She expected me to start dying sooner? What the. . .? That thought ain't no consolation either.

Happy Thanksgiving to me.

Honestly? I've been crying consistently since hearing the news. Today I lost it, pulled over after getting lost, throwing any free item I could reach around the inside of my car in a fit of rage. I am angry. I am sad. I am scared. And I am angry.

This is not fair. I know people who are total assholes who have had metastatic cancer and now seem to be cancer free. And this idea of "just keep fighting?" Screw that. I am sick of fighting. I just want to live my life. I am tired of living with the Damocles sword of death, resulting in the re scheduling of anything in my life that might mean anything to me. As a trucker might say,  fuck this shit.

Tattoos not advisable while on chemo? I'm getting one any way.  Vacations a risky idea? I'm going. Big purchases not recommended. I'm buying.  Life can do what it wants with me, but I'm gonna live.

All I have to say is when, when, when. Fuck that shit. I'm going to live now.