I went into this dragging my emotional feet. I did NOT want to take these heavy-duty drugs again that compromise my mental state and make me feel utterly crappy. Nonetheless, last Friday, I was in the infusion chair, ready to receive the treatment that the doctor believes will give me two to three more years of progression-free existence. When you break out in a rash, have rampant fatigue, and hate the sight, smell and thought of food, thinking, “2-3 years. 2-3 years. 2-3 years,” is not necessarily the motivator you’d think it would be.
I’m several days out from my infusion and I still feel like crap.
I’m guessing that once I’m done with it and (if) I get those 2-3 years, I’ll think it’s worth it. At this moment, I’m not so sure.