I will tell you now,
how it all happened.
I already sensed it at the end of 2019, when I felt that lump, that the shit is about to get real.
I didn’t catch the moment it grew there. You know, I didn’t pay that much attention to myself. And then I went to see the doctor. On February 4 I received a referral to an oncologist. It was the first alarm, when I realized – that’s it. Something new is about to begin.
My diagnosis was confirmed on March 4. A month passed of not knowing anything. That feeling is excruciating. It gets much easier, when you’re told. What relief and joy I felt, when I entered that consulting-room! I was simply fed up, four weeks, everyone is asking you, everyone is worried. I said – go ahead, say it right away.
And I said phew, and started laughing. That I finally knew, finally had some clarity. Imagine, it all happened at the very beginning of the emergency state, when everything was crumbling. I had the surgery, if I recall right, on March 25. After that I recovered quickly, a couple of days and I was back in shape.
And I started walking along the sea like crazy.
And while walking along the sea, I got an impulse.
I wanted to do something with my hair, as the chemotherapy was inevitable. I would loose my hair anyway. I wanted to do something with it myself, before it happens.
I thought that my hair would fall out straight away, but hell no.
In total, I had six chemos at three-week intervals. The first was on April 30, and the last on August 20. Hair started falling out after the second chemotherapy. Fell like snow, in pieces, in areas, until at one point I had lost half, and I just shaved them.
A course of chemotherapy means going to Stradins hospital, picking up a number and waiting in a line.
I had 6 courses – 3 courses with one medication, and 3 courses with another. And those first 3 courses… Do you know what an Aperol Spritz looks like? That's the colour that went inside me.
And then I peed the same colour out. The red chemistry, that’s its nickname.
A month break after the chemo, then radiation for a month and a half. Every day at the same time. Went to it like to work, it seems some 25 times. You cannot be late, my nurse once truly made sure I understood it.
And for the next 5 years, a tablet per day – it’s called hormone therapy.
I finally feel,
as they say, happier. Somewhat a little happier, you know.
See, how I look. Look at my hair.
I never felt so good with those shitty long hair, as much as I do now, when looking in the mirror.
I know that everything will be fine, I believe that everything will be fine.
It is impossible to survive this period with other thoughts. Of course, there are days, when it seems to be the end of the world. But there are also days that are beautiful, in which I am really happy.
And this evening is like that. I am happy.
Maybe you have something to say now. Maybe you or one of your relatives is going through a similar experience right now – if you are willing, drop me a line.