Two months have passed and, unfortunately, writing had been the last thing on my mind.  I have had to put myself into a sort of “survival mode.”  Waking up; going to the hospital; fighting fatigue in the afternoon; finally drifting off to sleep…this is what my days have looked like for the past two months.  I’ll catch you up…

Two months ago I was told I needed five more weeks of radiation therapy and I prepared myself for the monotony of going to the hospital every day.  Not long thereafter, my doctors recommended that, along with the radiation, I add some chemotherapy to accelerate the effectiveness of the radiation.  Chemo had been on and off the table since I was diagnosed.

For most people, chemotherapy is a no-brainer, but for me, it is a bit of a risk.  In 2012, when I had a relapse of Hodgkins Lymphoma, I had an stem cell transplant which left me with a compromised bone marrow.  Chemotherapy impacts the proper functioning of the bone marrow of a healthy person, but for a person like me, it can have an even greater impact.  In addition, radiation treatment hits 20-30% of my bone marrow.  The dynamic duo of chemo and radiation caused my blood counts to tank.  To paraphrase Ron Burgundy (of Anchorman fame), chemo “was a bad choice.”  I landed in the hospital for a few days, transfusions followed, and treatment was put on hold.  Eventually, my “team” decided to discontinue the chemo and I couldn’t move ahead with radiation until my blood counts came up.  Fast forward…after seeing more doctors – as of today I’m up to six – and countless blood tests, my counts have started to rise on their own and radiation has resumed.

While I am relieved to be back on track, even having bursts of energy and glimpses of myself from time to time, I am exhausted.  My motivation is sapped.  My spirit and resilience are perpetually challenged.  I even lost my taste for the grande white chocolate mocha with whipped cream.  I know I’m still here somewhere, but I was brought to the bring of hopelessness and I am just starting to return.  I’m not done yet, but I am cautiously optimistic that the worst has passed.