Laying in bed with my new world

As I am coming to the end of my miserable chemo treatment so many things rush through my mind. Like I remember when I hadn't started chemo yet, and I was listening to a select few women and their chemo stories. I luckily told myself to stop comparing my possible journey with theirs. Luckily I did that. Because this has been hell. I will never mince words with that. From the cellulitis to the weeks in bed because I had to be in bed because I've been so sick, there is no playing nice guy with my experience. The depth of pain and agony I've gone through has stripped away any old part of me that wasn't compassionate. I have such a renewed, almost child like innocence of wanting to help and be there for women who are fighting for their lives. That is what I have been doing the past six months.
If I hadn't done this, I would have surely died as being a Triple Negative and the aggressiveness of this particular breast cancer is tenacious. So yes, I have been fighting to live and that is what has made this worth it. Would I do it again. Probably not. I have been dreaming of the day of just being in Maui with friends and giggling on the beach. Its been a long time, since I have felt like truely giggling. Laughing. I laugh now a days, but its always with a twinge of disgust of sickness that is lingering.
The depth of sadness is outrageous. I have had to push aside the sadness on many levels just to be able to deal. Knowing full well that it will need to be brought into the center of the room when I am done with all this treatment. I think that is why I cry so often throughout the day. Because I simply cannot address its complete source and depth and so I have spurts of it slide down my checks. I opened a book that my friend Deena brought me the other day called, the victoria secrets catalog never stops coming and other lessons I learned from breast cancer. I devoured it in a day, and cried and bawled the whole time. There are so many cancer books out there, but to read a book with similar views as I have hit my heart, with a powerful punch.
Since the beginning of all this, and my main reason I've been blogging is to help me post treatment and heal myself by writing a book. My book, I want it to be deep. I want it to have funny things in it like, 1. make sure your accupuncturist cleans your skin before sticking a needle in your arm-so that you don't get cellulitis. A list of things to watch for. A list of cures and a list of things I liked to eat. By far, the most palatable meal is egg on toast. Luckily chemo never made me sick of it. Now when I am all done, who knows.
I am still numb. I know I only have a few weeks of not feeling good left, and perhaps just one more week. But I can't quite think of all the things in the book because I'm still getting through it.
One thing I've learned is that even in the loneliness of being with oneself in one's agony, its easier to pick up the phone and cry to someone and allow someone to see my vulnerability than pretend I can take care of it alone. Its hard being a woman and needing to receive, actually being forced to accept food, accept a book, accept a hug, accept tender words, accept a hat, accept anything without giving something back. I have learned through this acceptance to love myself deeper and to open myself up to love in such a profound way. I have more limits now. Where as before I'd lived my life for others, I now have spent six months thinking of basically myself. And that is a good thing now. Whereas before, I would've cringed with the though and I would have never said it out loud.