Round Seven...Nine More to Go

Every Thursday, late in the afternoon,
the telephone rings:
"This is the medical oncology clinic at Johns Hopkins. Deneitra, you have an appointment at (time) on Friday, (date). If you would like to confirm this appointment, please press one."

I don't listen beyond "one".
Why should I?
I don't want to confirm the appointment, but I will.
I spend the rest of my day trying to forget.
Sometimes chemo can make it hard to live in the moment; at other times, nothing could be easier.
On Thursdays, it's the former.

I watch sitcoms; I laugh.
I answer emails, Facebook.
I even make a few phone calls,
maybe.
I still have trouble sleeping most Thursday nights
because of Fridays.

I wake up knowing that things will get worse, before getting better;
praying this time will be a little easier than the last.

It's time for another round.

No matter what I do to ease into the day,
it's weight will rush against me.
I feel the rush now as the anticipatory nausea takes hold.
In my mind, I know that the Taxol does not make me sick to my stomach.
It doesn't mater. I have created this.

As soon as I collect my courage, I'm out the door, on my way to chemo.
It's hard to live in the moment without looking ahead.

I look forward to the days when Friday means what it's supposed to mean
...the weekend.