So today is my anniversary.
On January 10, 2013, I walked into Mt. Auburn Hospital, handed them back my infusion pump, and walked out a free man. It was my last chemotherapy treatment, and three years on, I remain cancer-free.
Those last few weeks were hellacious. I lost about 40 pounds during the ordeal, and I looked thin and gaunt, and felt just as old and tired as I looked. My infusion port site looked OK, but I didn't think it was much of a bargain - I had increasing pain and discomfort with every week of treatment.
The CIPN (Chemotherapy Induced Peripheral Neuropathy) was almost killer - I lost significant portions of my fine motor control in my hands, was walking with a limp, and I had astonishing temperature sensitivity, to the point where drinking or eating anything that wasn't tepid or warmer felt like ol' Darth himself was giving me a free throat hug.
But then I ponder the alternative.
Here I am, three years later, in reasonably decent health. Those 40 pounds I lost have pretty much all been replaced. (Much to my chagrin, actually.) The CIPN has receded, but I will live with that for the rest of my life - nerves generally don't heal. I still walk with a limp sometimes, and I can't button a shirt to save my life, but for the most part life goes on.
I posted a while back that we're headed for the fabulous Disney World next summer to celebrate a wedding anniversary, and two birthdays that all have nice round numbers. It seemed like the thing to do.
There was this little bit in the news this week about our GOP friends passing a bill to repeal 'ObamaCare', which of course the president promptly vetoed.
It seems like I should remind everyone that without the Affordable Care Act, I would be DEAD.
Physically, actually, really DEAD.
Obamacare saved my life - and fuck every Republican everywhere that is still trying to take it away.