Chemo Chronicles: Halfway and Hanging On (Barely)

It’s been a while since I’ve felt like writing. Halfway through treatment felt like a victory lap — confetti, trumpets, maybe even a parade float with me waving from the top. I had a few good days and thought, well, maybe I’ve got this chemo thing down.

Ha. Rookie mistake.

Because then came treatment number “just past halfway,” and it marched in like a mean girl with a grudge. It ripped through my veins like it was late for a meeting in hell — leaving pain, misery, and a new appreciation for modern pharmaceuticals.

That one was Friday.
Today — finally — is the first morning I woke up without the chemo fog. You know the one — that fuzzy-brained nonsense where you wake up asking, Where am I? What day is it? And why does everything taste like pennies and regret?

So, as the sacred chemo cycle goes, I’ll start feeling a little better each day until the next treatment rolls around and knocks me flat again. Then we rinse, repeat, and call it progress.

But here’s the thing: each round means I’m that much closer to the end of this part of the ride.
Closer to breathing without that fog.
Closer to tasting coffee that actually tastes like coffee.
Closer to being done.

Halfway there — still standing, still snarky, and still me.