Love/Hate - but please, save my life.

I woke up shivering, my teeth chattering in the middle of the night last week. I pulled the blankets up above my shoulders and at the same time, placed the palm of my right hand across my forehead. It was as hot as a fresh sunburn, except I hadn't left my house much at all for almost a week and it was the middle of winter.

I didn't have a sunburn and I wasn't cold that night. I knew this feeling all too well. Fevers. Rigors. Here we go again.

It was 1242am and I reached for the thermometer, placing it in my ear canal that was emitting a ray of palpable heat. Now - 38.4 degrees celsius. Confirmed. I've got a fever related to low cell counts. My boyfriend had gotten up and gone to the bathroom, but on his return I asked him to turn the light on and simply said "We need to go." He knew exactly what I meant and where we were headed. We quickly started to pack a bag and grabbed for pill bottles, my yellow fever card to present to triage for quick entry and a toothbrush. It's amazing how fast we made our way out of what had been a sleeping state moments before to now a process-based chain of movements.

I turned the shower on to cool off and as I rotated the tap, I again took my temperature - it was 38.6 degrees celsius. No time for a shower. I was starting to burn up and my mind was feeling lucid, my thoughts jumbling together. I reached for two pieces of jewellery and put them on, not knowing what the next few hours or days would bring. A necklace that had been my mothers and a pair of pearls from my sister she had given me for my 36th birthday. I needed to wear these, just in case.

We arrived at the hospital less than 25 minutes later and within 20 minutes of arrival I had a drip of IV antibiotics and fluids running open into my veins. I hoped and prayed this episode would be short lived and relieve the fire burning in my body, the unknowns in my mind.

Luckily, modern medicine again came to the rescue and quickly improved my symptoms, fighting the infection that abruptly took advantage of my neutropenic, weakened immune system. These episodes turn a seemingly normal night or day into a state of panic, in the blink of an eye.

Anyone undergoing chemotherapy will tell you how complicated this relationship is. "Cytotoxic. Poisonous. Fatigue Inducing. Yucky." These are the words that often come to mind. But, what about "lifesaving, life-prolonging, miraculous?" We have negative affiliations with the word chemotherapy (and its effects on our bodies) throughout the course of treatment because, well, its pretty awful stuff in a lot of ways. At the same time, these drugs are enabling those of us undergoing treatment to potentially live free from disease and return to a pre-cancer physical state. I think its impossible to go back to mentally, we are never the same after the journey we have travelled.

Drugs including antibiotics, injections, chemotherapy, monoclonal antibodies and steroids are some of the

medicines that we fear putting into our bodies. There are well researched and valid concerns relating to antibiotic resistance, opportunistic infections, prolonged side effects, nausea and vomiting - just to name a short few. These drugs save our lives, though at the same time deconstruct our bodies down the basic building blocks of existence in order to heal. How can we resurrect our angst and trepidation toward these medicines and redefine our perspectives to also see their advantages?

I think this is a very important question and one that deserves attention, as we support others and as we ourselves, go through treatment for chronic disease, include chemotherapy. Adjusting our landscape could potentially lead to increased optimism and less anxiety/fear. Finding the appropriate time for gratification amidst the upheaval of your life and perceived trajectory is tricky, yet empowering.

I don't have the answers and I'm not sure there is one. We all experience the same events differently, another reason why the human body and spirit are so incredible. One thing I can say, is I've come to a point where I am able to acknowledge and appreciate what modern medicine has done for me and my survival. My relationship is ever-changing and ever-evolving and I think thats a pretty good place to start.