My life was so changed after the sickness that followed the
fifth round of chemo, that it is difficult for me to convey. It has left an
indulable mark on my very being. How does one explain the feeling they have
during the process of being given chemicals which will destroy every fast-growing
cell in their body? It is more than one can aptly put into words. Forcing
myself to be injected by the poison/elixer that would hopefully rid my body of
a deadly desease, was truamatic to my body, mind, and spirit.

I was in the care of my mother, once more,and totally dependant on her, as
my pain wracked body, burned from within, there was unbearable pain in my bones,
my flesh felt like it was on fire, and the waves of nausea never ceased. To even
put an ice cube to my lips brought more violent wretching, and this brought more
pain to my already tormented stomach. I was too weak to sit up, I was in and out
of consciousness. When sleep did come, it was not the restful kind, rather the
brief escape from my world of suffering. I cried in pain, my mind wished for
the relief of death, and I was no longer able to hope for anything more than
release from the war inside of my body.

I was trapped inside myself, my pain, and my feverish prayers. I felt that
I had come as far as my strength could carry me. So ravaging was this treatment
that I was stripped of all ability to withstand it. I cared for nothing, and was
barely aware of the time of day, those who came to hold my hand, or kiss my face
as I lay on my bed of pain. I remember Larry kneeling beside me, and my mother,
crying and praying for God to have mercy on me. And the encouragment of my
father, when he stood at the foot of my bed, and then left quickly before I
could see my suffering reflected in his eyes.

There were phonecalls to my doctors in the background of the darkened room
where I lay. My mother's voice pleaded with them to help me somehow. But the
news she recieved was that they had given me whatever medicine's were available
to fight the side effects of the chemotherapy, already. Since I could no longer
swallow even a sip of water, I could not take the medication. The days were like
years in time. And as I thought I could take no more suffering, a migraine struck
to add insult to injury. My head ached unbearably in union with my body, and I
became the pain. I was nothing, no longer human, it seemed. I was pain! I no
longer fought it, but let myself become the very esssence of human suffering.
When I did have a lucid thought, it was to wonder if what I was experiencing
were the very fires of hell. Surely, this was what Hell must be.

It was on the fifth day after my treatment that I began to get somewhat better.
I could take sips of water. And was able to stand, with help, and get to the
bathroom. But I was so weak that I returned to my bed, where I was bathed by my
mother, and brought water to sip, and plain rice to eat. One teaspoon at a time
I forced the food in my mouth, hoping it would remain in my stomach. I was more
aware of my surroundings, but as weak as I'd ever been. I was emotionally wrought
and seemed to feel like crying all of the time. But my mother tended me like I
was, once again, her sick little child, coming out of the high fevers of tonsilitis
I would experience, back then.

I was not really depressed, my emotions were beyond that stage, I was defeated
by my illness. When my mother and Larry were with me later that day, and I was fully
able to talk with them, I broke the news of my decision to discontinue my treatments.
"I will not go through this hell again," I told them through tear filled eyes. "I love
you both, and I know that you love me. And if I felt I could bear another round of chemo
I would do it." I told them. "But, I believe that it will kill me." My mother broke
her demeanor of soft, motherly care, and got stern with me. "You have come too far to
give up now! You can't give up!" She left me alone with Larry.

Larry is not a man of many words. Nor is he a man to belittle or argue with another's
decision. In my constantly, dimly lit bedroom, he simply sat by my bed silently for a while.
Then he spoke softly "Laura....I've waited all of my life for you. And now that I have found
you, I don't want to lose you, so soon." I felt so drained, I didn't even feel like a new
bride. "Besides, woman....you promised me fifty years," he said with emotion stopping him from
saying anymore. He leaned over to kiss me, and I thought to myself, I wish I could bear to be
kissed on my lips, and to be held tight in my husbands arms, and to know the pleasure of making
love once more.

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