Near my parent’s house there’s winding road that goes from their house to one of the highways.
Before I could drive, my brother, sister, and I loved this road because it has a lot of dips in it. My mom would always go fast down them because we loved it. It felt like a mini roller coaster and every time we felt our stomachs drop, we would get the biggest smiles on our faces.
Once I could drive, this road became my road. Anytime I was mad, sad, happy, or whatever, I would drive down this road with my music turned all the way up, my windows rolled down, and my fingers weaving through the rushing wind. This road has heard my cries and my laughter more times than any other. It’s where I go when I want to escape, when I want to think, and when I want to disconnect.
This road has brought me peace. It is my place.
On Friday, I met with my oncologist to talk about my treatment plan. It was actually the first appointment that I was really nervous for, and I’m not sure why. I guess because it made things official.
We talked about my port placement (which is happening tomorrow morning) and then he said that he wanted me to start chemo on the 14th.
Up until that point, chemo had felt like this sort of fictitious thing. I had read about it and tried to prepare myself for it; I had even said the words “I have to have chemo”, but those words had no weight or meaning. It wasn’t until I realized that ten days from that day (and eight days from now), I would be sitting in a chair having a liquid pushed through a catheter in my chest, that the gravity of everything hit me.
It’s officially real.
And I’m scared… and that’s okay.
So yesterday, with all my fear and worry, I went to my road.
I rolled the windows down, I wove my fingers through the air, and I listened. There was no music playing because there was no song that resonated with what I was feeling. Instead I listened to the nearby creeks, to the birds, and to the wind.
I took a deep breath in, with tears streaming down my face, and began to feel peace.