Hooray! A great big milestone!

I can hardly believe it, but there are no more sleeps to go. Today, in the early afternoon, I had my last weekly Taxol treatment. To quote MLK Junior, I am "free at last"!....Well almost. There are still 13 more Herceptin treatments to go, providing the MUGA shows no dangerous decrease in my heart function, and there is the small matter of six weeks of radiation. Already, my heart has lifted as I move closer to my post-IBC life.

I'm not even too concerned about the results of the MUGA. If I have to discontinue the Herceptin treatment, then I've at least received more than the 9 doses that a Finnish study suggests are sufficient. Que sera, sera.

It seems I have set a precedent at the Oncology Clinic by making a batch of muffins to share with staff and patients to celebrate my milestone. One woman promised a chocolate mudcake as she was leaving today and one is planning champagne. I'm not too sure, though, how well alcohol mixes with cytotoxic chemicals! I have wondered whether a couple of glasses of champagne with my Christmas dinner last year was what put me in bed with nausea for three days and made me consider whether dying might not be so bad.

I find myself at a curious point in my progress in my war against IBC as I reflect on what has passed and start to think more about the future.

I have discovered things about myself. People have always regarded me as strong and I've discovered that I am. I've often wondered whether I'm brave and I've discovered that I am. I hope this doesn't sound vain as it doesn't describe how I feel about it. To me, it's just like saying I'm tall or I have blue-grey eyes. And I've met so many women about whom I can make the same observations - the courage and strength bit, I mean. I think that what I am is ordinary and I've come to think that describing someone as ordinary is very much a compliment. Last week I was chatting to a friend I've met through sessions at the clinic. She has had to have three of her front teeth extracted because of chemo-induced mouth ulcers. She laughed as she commented that she has, thanks to BC, "No hair, no tits, no teeth". What a magnificent woman! Hear her roar! If we think back to our own pre-BC days, we wouldn't believe that this could be possible. I was also sruck by the fact that her husband was there with her. This has to be real love and I see this so often at the clinic. It is truly inspiring.

I have been reflecting, too, on my little victories along the way. Those who read these posts will know how obsessed I've been with my hair. It was one of my few physical vanities. Losing my hair, I realised a few days ago, was the most empowering thing I've ever experienced in my life. Like every woman diagnosed with BC and told she will have to undergo chemo, the first question I asked was, "Will I lose my hair?" I kept it a week longer than expected. I had it cut short. I washed it off myself. I didn't lose all of it. It came back before predicted. These are minor and meaningless victories in terms of my recovery from IBC, but they gave me a thrill and enabled me to think that I was undergoing chemo and not going under.