Oh, a new "friend" called chemo.

Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,

At this point, the line is very blurry between who is for me and who is against me.  Oh, it is obvious that you, sir, are against me, but there are definite times when I swear you have swayed chemo to join your side.  I have been reassured by my oncologist and the nurses that my chemotherapy treatment is my so called "friend," but in an attempt to defend me, she seems to be ruthlessly attacking anything else in my body that gets in her way. I'm not sure this crazed lunatic can be trusted, but there seems to be little choice in the matter.  Chemo will have to suffice. I will have to make do. Sigh.  She better behave.

Here's a little tidbit about me, sir.  I'm a person that does not need to know everything that could possibly go wrong, which is why I have asked and studied little about you. I will deal with things as they come, deal with the issues you bring in my life as you do; every case is different and why stir up anxiety in prepping for each worst case scenario? Are you following?  However, before I began any treatment, I was charged to sit on something called a "chemo class."  I wince at the title... still playing the ignorant card that I'm going in for something called "medicine"...not for something as socially faux pas as "chemo."  Even so, I must introduce our new friend since she seems to be quite the two-way player, and her tirades may demand a considerable amount of the spotlight in the next few months to come. Eh. Stupid girl.

To begin, this "chemo class" was a bit of a tease.  We were escorted into a comfy meeting room with plush black leather chairs we were invited to sink into.  The nurses asked if we wanted any beverages, and as I sipped a glass of water, I relaxed into the chair with the comfort that no needle or IV would come near my body in that next hour. Never thought that would be a milestone, but phew.  As the movie began and we spun our chairs to face the screen, I soon realized this was no entertainment special... for this video walked us through every potential, negative side-effect from chemotherapy reinforced by the testimonies of others.  I first tried to deflect the scary information by singing a song in my head, staring out the window, tapping my foot... but all were useless. My next attempt was to read a pamphlet that was set before me... but it read word-for-word what the video was saying. It was clear: there was no way out. So there I sat, taking it all in, and freaked out by everything chemo could possibly do to me. Oh, how ignorance was bliss...(keyword: was).

After the video wrapped up, a nurse came back in the room and asked if we had any thoughts we wanted to debrief.  Traumatized, I could barely blink back at her.  Then, this 65-year-old woman, a fellow chemo-class attender (still wincing), looked right at me and said, "Do you have a port yet? Do you want to see mine?" Without waiting for me to respond, she stands up, pulls down her pants (which made little sense because a port is located above your chest), pulls up her shirt, and moves her undergarments around trying to reveal the so called port. I mean, if I blush when I'M exposed, you can only imagine my face when this woman shamelessly stood there for all to see.  Welcome to chemo class, peeps.

With that experience under my belt, I was apparently equipped and ready to go. So on that Monday, February 13th, I sat back in a recliner that was positioned in a long room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a ban of turkeys parading around just outside. I can't help but take in my surroundings, and in doing so, I saw 15 other people hooked up to IV's, their shoes kicked off, reading books, talking with others,... or staring.  To be more specific, staring at me. Given the situation, and if I was on the other side, I would probably look too. Because here's the thing (that I have mentioned a few times before, but must again share): those people reclining in their patient chairs had their daughters or sons seated beside them in the visitor chairs.  I must admit, it is quite humbling to walk past the eyes of these individuals and take the patient chair myself as my mom instead takes the visitor seat next to me.  I can only imagine their thoughts, and although I'm sure are kind and full of pity, pity is not something a Stoltz readily embraces. Rather, it is something I avoid at all costs. I'm fine with being different, but not like this.  At this point, all I thought was I just want to be normal. I just want to be a normal 23-year-old girl who's spending her day off in a coffee shop, chatting with friends, and their biggest worry and topic of conversation is when we will all get married.  But nope. Not today at least. Today's reality is I'm a 23-year-old girl who has to put some of her dreams on hold and be strong enough to deal with the likes of you. 

Oops, though... secret: I am so not strong.  I'm the girl who avoided chores and yardwork because I was too weak to hold up a rake or push a lawn mower. I'm the girl who asked my coach if I could lift less weights because my thighs were screaming after work-outs.  Heck, I'm the girl that can produce tears within 1-2 seconds before pain even touches my body. So there you have it, Mr. Hodgkin's; you have targeted a baby. 

Thankfully, for me, this is not the end-all, sir. Because although I may have a low pain tolerance, my spirit is tenacious and unyielding.  My fortitude is fierce and resolute.  Do you know why?  Obviously it is to no credit of my own.  Surely, you must now see.  Ha, if I were left to fend for myself, my tears would have already paved the way to hopelessness and my heart would have likely surrendered to defeat.  I am but a young woman, even a child in my nurse's eyes... but this is where I boast.  I'm not relying on my own strength, for that would be painfully pitiful to any observer... but have instead entrusted myself to the resilience of Another.  Check it: "For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to Him" 2 Chronicles 16:9.  Even more simply put, "The Lord is the strength of His people" Psalm 28:8.  I know this may sound counter-cultural to you, Mr. Hodgkin's, but the truth is when I am weak, then I am strong; for my God says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9). Sure, that's hard to swallow when hardship is surrounding on all sides, but again... I choose to trust in His character.  He will uphold me with His righteous right hand, sir. 

Hmm, it is apparent that our new friend, chemo, does not know how to treat a lady what with all the pain she has caused me especially in the last two days. But there is plenty of time to converse about this.  Right now, I am going to give into the tug of vicodin and sleep.  Oh, what a sweet invitation...
Yours Truly,
Heid