Before being diagnosed with cancer I used to flippantly suggest that in 100 years time we would look back on chemotherapy in much the same way that we look back on the practice of blood letting today - a rather blunt and undiscriminating tool for addressing a complex disease.
In many ways, I very much hope that this true. I hope that medical science will continue to break new ground on cancer treatments, developing refined treatments which cause less collateral damage to healthy cells than chemotherapy (I of course know nothing really, and am sure it is not quite as crude as I perceive it to be - or at least I am choosing to trust not).
But for now, with a meaty diagnosis under my belt, I can better appreciate the pivotal role of chemotherapy in the treatment of cancer, side effects and all.
It could, quite simply, save my life.
But somehow even that does not silence my fear.
I am someone who (for no justifiable reason) tries to avoid taking even paracetamol. I have not drunk caffeinated coffee for decades because of the adverse effect it has on my body. These days I seem to get a hangover after one glass of wine. And so the thought of my system being flooded with high potency 'toxins' has for me been incredibly difficult to embrace and get my head around.
Until now I have felt remarkably well. When completing our census form yesterday I was deeply challenged by the question "How is your health in general? - very good, good, fair, bad, very bad?" I genuinely feel like I could justify any one of those categories - it just depends how you choose to define 'health'.
Currently, post mastectomy, I am technically cancer free. There is therefore a deep irony in having to embark on a treatment regime that is in all likelihood going to make me feel and seem far more ill than the disease itself has to date.
But the bottom line is that I really don't have any credible alternatives. The nature and progression of my cancer is such that not accepting treatment feels, to me, inconceivable.
On one level, this really helps. But despite being able to appreciate this rationally, I am still afraid. And so, in order to reduce my resistance and grow my acceptance, I have had to try to find ways to reframe this most infamous of treatments.
I sought advice from a good friend who walked her own complex path with cancer. She told me that, faced with the same fear, she named her chemo drugs after Viking and Saxon warriors - real 'kick ass fighters' as she described them.
I loved this idea as a way of reframing chemotherapy, creating a more positive, empowering and supportive lens through which to view and experience it.
And so, over dinner one night last week I asked the kids what they thought I should call my drugs. After some debate (and reassurance that if for any reason the drugs don't work, it will not be their fault for choosing the 'wrong' heroes - this is just a vehicle for making things more palatable for me), my chemo drugs now sport the names of my children's favoured Avengers heroes.
Rebranding the drugs as powerful Scarlet Witch, super-strong Thor, mind-stone-sporting Vision and strategist-in-chief Black Widow transforms feared toxic shots into a crack team of powerful superheroes preparing to vanquish any errant cancer cells. (For those who read "Picking my battles", where I shun the notion of battling my cancer, this may seem a little contradictory. But there is a subtle but important distinction - it is not me who is pitted against the cancer here, but the superhero drugs). This strong-armed squad becomes one that I am actively inviting in to deep-cleanse my body, giving me some agency and allowing me to refocus on their powerful potential for doing good, rather than on the pages and pages of side effects which I may (or may not) experience.
And so, tomorrow morning, as I sit nervously in the waiting room, I won't just be quietly reassuring myself by muttering 'show up, breathe, trust' under my breath- a mantra I have never needed more...
I am also ready to meet my fears and greet the treatment with a loud rallying cry of "Avengers Assemble!"
