Zombie

Chemo is done. Finally.

If I am lucky, last Thursday is the last chemo I will ever have to endure. On Wednesday, some girlfriends delivered dinner and we shared a toast of red wine to celebrate. On Thursday my chemo buddy was a dear friend from Dillon and my Great Harvest days. It was great to spend some time reconnecting with her. At the end of the chemo session, all of the staff at the cancer center serenaded me with a song and handed me a balloon.

My in-laws know me well and sent along some lovely flowers and chocolate treats. Thanks everybody for your love and support.

When I would think ahead to this day, I imagined myself crying, cheering, shouting, and expressing all sorts of happy emotion. But the opposite seems to be true. All three of us spent most of this weekend shuffling around the house like zombies... with blank stares and low energy.

The best analogy I have is that of a POW. Photos of prisoners recently liberated from camps during the war show people with blank expressions. You would think they would be cheering their liberators, but really all they can do is stare and wonder what is happening.

Let's be clear; my situation is nothing like what those people experienced. But I certainly can relate.

This weekend was a Jammie Weekend. On Saturday it was clear that we were desperately low on toilet paper. Brett and I looked at each other and and decided it wasn't worth going to the store to get it. By a miracle, we made it to the store on Sunday to re-stock the Charmin. We spent Sunday afternoon at Barnes and Noble in a daze, looking at magazines. Grace stayed in her pajamas all day, even at the bookstore.

I think this new reality will start to sink in next Thursday when I don't have to go in for another treatment. Until then, I'm easing back into what I remember "normal" life to be.