It’s been a while since my last update—mostly because I haven’t had anything too notable to share. Given how this whole lymphoma journey started, I’d say that’s a good thing.

I was admitted for my sixth and final chemotherapy cycle on Thursday, June 19th, and I’ll be heading home tonight, Monday, June 23rd.

Ever since I arrived at the Anschutz Center in Denver my life has been a whirlwind of inpatient treatments intermixed with twice weekly outpatient lab draws and provider visits. Since my second chemo cycle I have been handling treatment quite well so I have been on a tight schedule with barely three weeks between cycles. 

I had never seen my body so weak, and I began to lose trust in it. Even walking a lap around the unit felt monumental. But I knew I was at a crossroads. I had to reclaim autonomy over my body in order to heal.

At my lowest moments, I cried uncontrollably in my hospital bed, sobbing, “Why is this happening to me?!”

But I learned I had to release that pain. Let the tears flow. Let the fear and despair move through me instead of settling in. Once I did, I started to see silver linings at every turn.

At the end of the first week of March, I started my chemotherapy regimen. Nervous is an understatement. Never in a million years did I think I would willingly pump poison into my body—but there I was. I did my best to create a positive environment in both my mind and body as I prepared to receive treatment.

Then the oncologist came in. He sat down and got straight to the point: I had a very aggressive form of cancer and needed to start an intensive, five-day inpatient chemotherapy regimen immediately.

A few months prior I was climbing mountains but on this day I couldn’t make it from the parking lot to the admittance desk without sitting down for a break. 

Well, this was unexpected.