Last Friday was the anniversary of "Cell Day". I sent my husband out for a Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Cake just like the one they gave me on the day of the transfusion.
On Sunday we packed up the kids and headed for Frankenmuth, where I was registered to participate in a 5K Walk. That evening, I raised a glass to toast my esteemed immunotherapy fellow, who soon would be turning over my case to someone else. I chose a drink that he likes best. (This was less of a sacrifice than I was expecting!)
We watched fireworks with our kids, and some dear friends. Our youngest was enthralled by the spectacular explosions and declared his appreciation (loudly) after almost every round. As the smoke from the finale cleared, he announced in the darkness of the night that it had been "the best day of (his) life".
The 5K took place the following morning. I was nervous! It seemed to me that all of my health problems began after I ran a 5K in 2011.
Maybe 5K races are bad luck!
My oldest daughter and my husband accompanied me. They kept me to a challenging-enough pace for me, but one slow enough for them to chat effortlessly with each other. Neuropathy in my feet (from stupid FOLFOX) caused some pain, and my lungs...well, they did OK. I wasn't breathing like I felt I needed (wanted) to, but I was breathing adequately, apparently. I could not chat! My lungs would let me walk, or talk, but not both. We walked at about 3.5 mi/h and I finished in 51 minutes.
In movies sometimes a dramatic moment is depicted as happening in slow-motion. That is what happened to me at the finish line. In slow-motion, I saw my foot hit the mark, and it felt like a literal weight had lifted. I could almost hear the woosh as it flew off my shoulders. I've never experienced anything like it before.
When I crossed over the finish line, it felt like a new beginning.