"There is only one journey: going inside yourself." -Rainer Maria Rilke

Since the blog title "Blahhhg" was already used (I am feeling yucky), I had to look for a new one. This one fits and at no other time in my life is this quote more relevant than now.

Since my last post, I have gotten slightly more than a double dose of chemo. In addition to my regular mocktail ('cause it's not as much fun as an actual cocktail), my oncology team added another week of chemo. This additional week of chemo is called High-Dose Methotrexate. This means that out of every four weeks of the month, I am having chemo infused for two of those weeks through June. High Dose Methotrexate, for the blissfully uninitiated, is essentially a drug that, when infused goes straight to your organs. Once a certain toxicity is reached, you take a "rescue" drug called Leukovorin, which releases the toxins from your soft tissue organs, and leaves it behind on the hard tissue (or bone) cancers.

There are a few side effects, one is early-onset menopause. I like to say that I am still hot, it just comes in flashes now. Which I only say that when I am not swearing about it. The most painful side effect by far is mouth sores. They are like blistery, open craters in your mouth. It hurts to talk, eat, water burns terribly, even doing nothing hurts. I have them in spades. I am also still on IV fluids. Happily, my local oncology department has set me up with home IV, so I don't have to be at the hospital anymore than I already am.

Not being physically comfortable speaking, along with being neutropenic (see blog post Neutropenia is not a Dog Food), and on IV meds, means I don't leave the house - not that I have the energy to go anywhere anyway. I have stopped reading for now, because it takes too much energy to hold the blasted book. Thus the journey within, as described in the title. This was already a journey within, starting when the Orthopedic Oncologist told me that if they amputated my leg with the cancer in it, I would still likely die of cancer, unless they treat my whole body as if the cancer had spread. This proclamation was followed directly by a visit to the Pediatric Day Hospital, where I am treated. Being surrounded by children fighting the same fight - and looking worse for wear, really hits home that life is so delicate and can turn on a dime.

Many of my posts include a spiritual component. You cannot fight this battle, or be on the battlefield seeing what we (John and I) see without journeying deeper in your own soul. Mostly because for me, my soul hurts - physically hurts to see what we see. What's more -really more- is to see people looking at me and seeing the battle on my own face and body. I am not sure yet which affects me more, those that look at me or those who look away.

There is an old riddle that is not really a joke:
Q. Why are there so many old people at church?
A. They are studying for their final exam.
I know, not that funny, but it occurs to be that older people are, in a way, in the same boat - they see a lot of death, thus making them face their own death, reviewing their own consciences, and especially considering deeply their own relationship with God.

I named this blog Cancerviver: My Strange Journey with Osteosarcoma. Breaking it down -Cancer being part one, vive (to live) add the "r" on it and you have CAN SURVIVE HER. I and my doctors believe wholeheartedly that I can survive this cancer. If I were to rename this blog, I would change the 'Strange Journey' part to 'Spiritual Journey.' My journey is not a singular one, I have a husband and family that I couldn't dream to be better, friends, and even strangers who remind me -through their words and deeds- that God is with me -through me and through others.