Celebratory, sort of

I had thought today's chemotherapy session would be a little different since it was my final session, the turning point toward whatever comes after the New Normal. The only difference, though, was that the cancer center was overbooked with cancer patients eager to get their treatments done before the holidays, so everything took longer than usual. As much as I appreciate the fine people who work at the cancer center, I was not thrilled about being there from 8:40 in the morning until 5:30 in the afternoon. At one point I was so annoyed with the persistent mindless yammering from the television in the waiting room that I told the woman at the desk that I would continue my waiting downstairs next to the soothing sound of the fountain. When the nurse needed me, she could just come down and find me. It was either that or tear the television off the wall and toss it out the window.

I asked my oncologist what comes next after chemotherapy, and he said, "We watch you." He's not talking about installing video cameras all over my house, either: I'll need periodic blood tests and CAT scans to make sure the cancer isn't coming back or spreading, and next week I'll start a few sessions of brachytherapy, which involves the insertion of high-intensity radioactive pellets near the place where the cancer was found--and if you think I'm going into all the gory details, you've got another think coming.

This morning I'm trying to work up the energy to celebrate the end of chemotherapy, but I'm still too doped up on drugs to manage much besides an occasional weak smile. Tomorrow my daughter and son-in-law will arrive and start putting together our Thanksgiving feast, and that will be something to celebrate--if I can stay awake. But even if I follow the usual pattern of dozing off at random the first few days after chemo, at least I can comfort my self with the knowledge that this is the last time I'll suffer that side effect.

Assuming that the cancer stays away.

Maybe that's why I'm having trouble celebrating: it feels like tremendous hubris to hoist the "Mission Accomplished" banner when I don't know whether the war is really over. I can celebrate the end of this particular prolonged battle, but the war itself--who knows when it will end?