80 Rounds of Chemotherapy… (Round 6 FOLFOX and Avastin)
This most recent round of chemo was the 6th of FOLFOX and Avastin, and was marked by a few significant points. Firstly, it was the 80th round total of chemotherapy that I have had. I remember after 20 rounds of FOLFIRI thinking that there was no way I was going to be able to make it through another 20 rounds. As it turned out I managed to cope with 66 rounds before it was stopped, and it was stopped because of non-response rather than toxicity. So 80 rounds total of all my chemotherapy is quite an achievement, and not something I would recommend as an overall lifestyle to others.
The second point of significance for this round was that this was the first round of chemotherapy as a father. Chemo renders me fairly useless for a few days at the best of times, but usually that has been something that is easy enough to deal with. I can go to bed, sleep it off, and Hannah just feeds me small amounts of easy to digest food for a few days. With Elise now part of the household there are increased responsibilities that are much more challenging to uphold over those few days. We have been fortunate enough to have been inundated with support from friends and family, and literally haven’t had to cook a meal yet since Elise has been born… But there are a few days that parenting for me, meals aside, becomes a next to an impossible task. Days 1 – 3 of chemo basically consists of having to give Hannah all the parenting responsibilities and I sleep through most of it. Days 4 – 5 are when I start to feel better, but its amazing how just a small amount of pacing whilst trying to settle Elise can leave me exhausted pretty quickly. I am a wannabe parent at this time but with little value to add to the process. Come Day 6 onwards, I’m well enough to resume my normal parenting responsibilities.
There are undoubtedly challenges to being a parents at the best of times, but we have the added complication of chemo punctuating our lives every 2 weeks. We always knew that was going to be the case, and I don’t see why it should stop us from doing our very best. It hasn’t stopped me graduating medical school, it hasn’t stopped me working as a doctor for 3 years, and it hasn’t stopped me from living my life. I refuse to let chemo stop me from being the best father that I can be.
Having your daughter fall asleep in your arms, watching her find peace in your embrace, is one of the magical things on this planet. A completely dependent little human relies on us as parents, and us alone to provide for all her needs. She is the cutest little baby in the world (as seen in her parents eyes) and there is real joy in nurturing her through the early stages of the newborn phase of life. There is delight in watching her open her eyes and having her stare back at you.
…And when she does that, I imagine that she is forming memories of me, her father. The rationalist in me knows that isn’t the case, the romantic wishes it is. Its not an easy thing knowing that unless I survive for years yet, she will only ever know her father through photos, writing, and stories.
…I hope she will also know how much I love her.
Until next time…