TheBanyanTree: The End of Chemo

[Monique Colver]

The chemo merry-go-round may still be spinning, but Stew is no longer on it.
He has made his decision, and it wasn't hard for him at all. When I spoke
with him he sounded better than he had in days, more cheerful, more at
peace, more ready for his next adventure, because he can see that there will
be a next adventure coming up, that it's not going to be an eternity of
being sick and in pain, weekly chemo and tests and procedures and on and on
for as long as the mind can see, which is quite a bit farther than the eye
can see.

I was at the beach two weekends ago. It was slightly overcast, and extremely
windy, and looking up the coast I thought I could see for miles and miles.
The ocean played tricks on my eyes, and I looked up the beach, to the north,
and saw more beach, and more beach, and on and on, and I thought that if I
were to walk on and on for days I'd still be walking along that beach, and
I'd still be heading north, and there'd be no end to it. That's how it
looked to me, from where I stood. It would never end, this beach, and I
could never get to the end of it, no matter how far I walked.

I imagine, though I don't know, that he's been feeling the same way. An
endless walk down a blustery beach of cancer and chemo that looks like it
will never end, and it'll go on forever and ever, like some sort of
purgatory on earth, with his life itself dwindling, but with the purgatory
encasing his body, and his spirit, an eternity of being stuck there with no
end in sight. The end of chemo ends that cycle, and opens new doors. I

He thinks he's putting others through so much, his parents especially,
they're with him and attending to his every need. His every want. Since he
throws up anything he eats, all pretense of giving him what he should have
has been dismissed. If he has a craving for an In 'N Out burger and fries,
they get that for him. He wants beans and rice from his favorite Mexican
place, they go get it. His appetite has been so small that anything he wants
is considered good, and why not? I've told him he's putting no one through
anything, that everyone is doing what they want to do, and there are no easy
solutions to this. He cannot disappear, as if he's never been, and make this
easier for anyone, even himself. It's a process that he must go through, as
we all go through our own processes. I've told him to let people take care
of him, and to ask for what he needs and wants, and that we just want to
help, and he has to let us. It's not his choice, nor ours, it is what it is,
and we'll do what we can while he does what he must.

 I know the times he has seemed happiest, giddy even with relief, are when
he has seen that there will be an end to this, even knowing what that end
is.

A new adventure, time for a new game plan. The only certainties in life are
those we all deal with. Life. Change. Death. We can be certain only of
those, and while we each travel alone, we share those things with every
other person, and so we are never truly alone.