Today marks chemo treatment 12 of 12. That’s 100% for those of you scoring at home (I’ve been waiting 6 months to say that!!!)  It’s a momentous day that almost got eclipsed this week by work and a really awesome case of the worse hives ever.  (It’s sort of like chemo’s parting gift to me -- Thanks for the memories chemo. Don't worry,  I won’t forget you. Ever.)

Yesterday while I was at the dermatologist to try and get rid of said hives, Dr. P congratulated me on getting to my last treatment.  “It’s a big day!” he said. And for once I said “thank you. It is a big day” and meant it.  Before this, chemo was just something I had to do, something I endured because I had to (kind of like a whole bunch of root canals. Without novacaine.)  But now that I’m actually here and it’s almost done, I do feel like I made it. Like I accomplished something big. Or at least survived with my sense of humor marginally intact, which feels like a big accomplishment in and of itself.

My stepmom texted me last night to ask me what my “chemo eve” resolutions are.  As in “you’re done with this chapter. You get a fresh start. What do you want that to look like?”

It’s a little hard to say for sure, because like so many “opportunities for growth” you don’t really appreciate them until they’re done and over with and you have a little perspective.  When they’re happening they usually kinda suck.  And even though I’m at the end, I think the lesson in all of this won’t be evident for months or years to come.  That said, I thought long and hard, and so from where I stand now, here are my “chemo eve” resolutions:

1. Get more sleep and eat more vegetables

Because I learned that I’m not unbreakable, that my body has limits and if I want my body to be nice to me, I need to be nice to it.  This is also a good rule for every other part of life too.

2.     Train for a marathon
Because I’ve also learned that my body is stronger and more resilient in the kind of ways you don’t understand until you’ve tested the limits. It’s capable of beating cancer and surviving ritual poisoning for 6 months and bouncing back. Plus I’ve always wanted to run a marathon and have continually put it off, which brings me to…

3.    Stop putting off my life goals for “maybe someday”
Warning: this is where I invoke the cheesy cliché about life being fragile and precious and how you only get one go ‘round in this body.  That’s because well, life is fragile and precious and you only get one go ‘round in this body, which you appreciate a lot more when you face the prospect of losing it. So I’m going to run a marathon and write my book even though I don’t totally know the story goes yet and direct my own film even if I don’t have the funding in place  and visit all the countries that start with an “I”, also Greece. Oh wait, Iran and Iraq both start with "I"s don't they?  Okay maybe I'll stop at India on that one.

4.    Reach out, pay it forward
More than anything this whole experience has really shown me how important it is to reach out, the power of connection. You can’t imagine how the simple act of sending an email or a text or a pair of fuzzy socks in the mail can make someone’s whole day, but I’m here to tell you they can. Now that I’m finishing up with my rough patch, I’m going to harness all of the energy and support and fuzzy socks love that you’ve showered on me the past six months and do my best to do you proud by reaching out to other people who need it.

5.     Practice gratitude daily
I’m usually a pretty optimistic person, but these last six months have really put that to test, and I can say without hesitation that gratitude has carried me through. When so much feels so heavy, it’s easy to get crushed unless you take time to remember why you should get out of bed.  That’s why I have taken to spending a few minutes each morning to thank the universe for at least three things I feel lucky to have in my life.  Some days all I can muster are things like peppermint tea and bubble baths, but everyday my list includes all of my amazing family and friends. You’re enough to make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world – even on chemo days.

6.      Follow my heart with intention
I’ve tried to follow this mantra my whole life, but I have to admit that in the past, it’s been way too easy to get caught up in the rat race, to listen to the nagging “shoulds” that programmed in, without really thinking about why I’m doing what I’m doing.  Now that I’ve spent six months just putting one foot in front of the other out of necessity, I cringe at the prospect of doing it by default.  Whatever I choose to do, I’m going to do 100% with my whole heart.  Anything else is just a waste of time.

7. Stop sweating the small stuff
There's nothing like being bald to put all those times I stressed over a bad hair day, in perspective. Ditto for worrying about the size of my thighs and for taking things personally.  Imagine how much more time and energy I would have for following my heart and paying it forward and marathon training and book writing and vegetable eating (not to mention playing in bouncy castles) if I just let go a little more and said f* it a little more often.

I'm sure I could think of a few more but the nurse has ported me up, my dad and Annie and Jeff are on their way down and Charlie is decorating the treatment room with streamers and balloons. The receptionist just walked by and stopped to see what's going on (I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s because I’m wearing a tiara…we take this last treatment celebration business very seriously). She asked if today is my birthday. I guess in a way, it is.

Charlie hates winter. A lot.

He lived in LA for ten years before moving to DC and you know that old quote about leaving California before it makes you soft?  Too late. I know, I know, there aren't a lot of people who really *love* winter, but he hates it with a depth and passion I usually see reserved for bedbugs and pedophiles.  
    
That's all just to say that after four solid weeks of snow and freezing rain and the kind of icy winds that cut through your soul, he's gone from merely cranky to downright despondent.  I go back and forth between trying to cheer him up by plying him with chocolate, and telling him to put on his big boy pants and suck it up until April. 

Then I remembered something my very wise friend Jen Steinman told me last March. I was visiting New York after weeks of holing up at my sister's house, dealing with various facets of small estate law and trying to wrap my brain around life with without my momma.  I was talking to Jen about what was next, what the future might hold, when I would come back to New York, back to my "normal" life.  "Slow down" she said, "You've just been through the ringer. Think of it like this: you're in the middle of your winter. Spring will come again when it's time, and then you can break out the sundress and flip flops and dance in the street.  Right now you need to let yourself put on flannel pajamas and hibernate."  I loved that image.  And it was a total relief. The truth was I had no *idea* how to get back to normal -- or what that even looked like.

By May I was feeling a little lighter. My sister had her baby and all that new life
goodness was like the first whiff of spring.  Two days later I had my biopsy and got the news that would knock me back into the cave for another nine months.

I've never actually been a bear, but I can imagine that after sleeping in one position in the dark for a whole season, your muscles get stiff and your senses get dulled and when you first stick your head out of the cave, the sunlight hurts your eyes. That's kind of of how I feel about the end of chemo and the beginning of the rest of my life.

This weekend, all of my hibernating came to a head in a little emotional breakdown that basically looked a lot like me sitting on the couch and crying for an hour straight. I felt like I had lost all perspective and like I couldn't take one more minute of winter.  Kinda like...Charlie. 

Don't you just hate it when your own words come back to bite you in the ass? Empathy is a great equalizer that way. 

As Charlie put it sometimes it's not about making the best of it, or sucking it up. Sometimes you've just got to wait it out and hold on until spring.  And as I sit here, hooked up to the drip for chemo session #11, I can almost hear the birds chirping.  So here's what I"m gonna do:  I"m gonna fix a nice cup of hot cocoa and then change into my big girl pants -- the flannel ones.  Because let's face it - spring may be just around the corner, but it's still cold outside.