The Bathroom on the Bus

Next week, my youngest...the four-footer...the Spunkiest Nine-Year-Old in the Seven If Not The Twelve County Metro Area...will go to church camp for the first time. Sleepaway Camp. In the woods--far away!
She's tingling with excitement and anticipation about this adventure. Her older siblings found church camp to be among their happiest and most memorable experiences and she's ready to be chime in with her Me-Too on this.
But I don't think she quite comprehends what church camp is.
From all that The Bigs have said over the years, she understands that it's Fun, of course. That there are songs and cool counselors and sleeping bags. That it smells like pine needles and bug spray and that melty-Hershey-bar S'more/campfire scent.
She also has heard that there's God stuff, but it's not boring.
When you ask her about what she's thinking about going to camp, she locks onto one particular detail like she's a thirsty wood tick.
There's a bathroom on the bus!
It's a long ride to the North Shore and my little camper and her co-campers will ride in style. The church contracts with a commercial bus company to provide transportation. And, wisely, considering they are hauling dozens of child-sized bladders, they use a bus that has A Facility in the back.
Hey! A bathroom on the bus! Wow, right!?!
Basically, the four footer can't quite imagine or visualize what's at the end of the bus trip. That's all as hazy as the morning mist hanging over the lake. Will she make friends? Will she be homesick? Will there be bears, as she has heard rumored?
Not sure about that.
But, as I think I mentioned, there's a bathroom on the bus!
As I continue my own journey, I think about the parallels between what my little girl is about to experience and what's directly ahead for me.
I begin chemotherapy next Thursday, July 12th. I admit that I feel a corrosive, gut-eating fear about this. I read the pamphlets about the drugs and the chemo accounts in books and I hear about the experience from others who have gone through it. But even as I am counting down to it, it seems unreal. A part of me still can't believe that there isn't some way out of this. That there isn't someone else I could pay to do this for me.
Yeah, it's irrational.
Sometimes I even think that maybe I shouldn't do it. That it just doesn't make sense to poison myself in order to be cured.
But then my intellect trumps my fear and I remind myself of just how lucky I am to have the doctors, pharmacology and science to treat and defeat this disease.
I remind myself that I can do this. I must. I will. And I'll appreciate every blessed drop, for the chemo drugs will ultimately allow me to live the long life that I so desire. It will allow me to claim a future that is cancer-free.
Still, I have to work hard not to get hung up on the symptoms that may follow the administration of the chemotherapy. We've all heard the horror stories; some of you reading this may have experienced them or watched a love one suffer. Miserable nausea, often followed by weight gain because of the steroid anti-nausea medication. Hair loss, which I am assured of. Fatigue--a level of cosmic exhaustion that cannot be anticipated. Aches and pains. So-called 'chemo brain' which drops a fog over cognitive thinking and memory.
My doctor and others who have done what I am about to do assure me that, these days, chemotherapy can be well managed. People known to be truthful tell me that the misery is far, far less than what patients experienced in even the recent past. That, while it's no one's idea of Fun, it can all be tolerated.
All I can think about right now, though, is the bathroom on the bus.
I can't think about what will happen when I get to my destination--which is the other side of the chemotherapy. I don't know exactly what happens then. I am preoccupied with the first, next leg of my journey.
For my daughter, it's the focus on the novelty of the bus biffy. Me, I think about sitting in a room with an IV drip. I am focused on how I will fare, because everyone reacts to the chemo cocktail differently, depending on their own unique body chemistry.
I truly wish that my first chemo session was behind me. It will be a relief to know exactly what the experience will be and to have faced it. For me, it seems the unknown is the bear in the forest.
"The first chemo tells the tale," the kind-eyed nurse reassured me just this morning. "Once it's done, we'll know how you react. We'll see how you do and tinker with what you'll need to take care of you and make you feel good." She smiled sympathetically. "Everybody talks about the people who react badly. You don't hear nearly as much about the vast majority of patients, who do just fine."
I will be among that number, I'm sure. I will do just fine. I spend a fair amount of time these days, calming my restless mind and staying upbeat--or, when I can't do that, keeping my spirit in neutral. I want to be tough, not a complainer or a whiner. I want to accept this and not fight it.
I want to use the damn bathroom on the damn bus and get on with the journey so I can experience what church camp will be like. That's what I really want.

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I have not written much in the past week. I have had a number of medical appointments--physical therapy for my arm, body scans, blood work. Between running around, working, and focusing on gathering my internal strength, I have made less time to ruminate on the blog.
I hope this will be a space where I can continue to process what I'm experiencing with those of you who are interested in hearing about it.
The radio show will continue to be a place where I go to get away from some of This. On my first show back after surgery, I promised you that I would not turn The Kevyn Burger Show into The Cancer Show. I want to talk, laugh, and get snarky like always. I need it--and need you to help me have fun!
For those of you who would like to hear a more personal, me-focused take on my experience, I offer the written word on the blog. The blog is meant to be an alternative way for me to interact with FM107 listeners. If what I write here is of little interest to you, I hope you will simply bypass the blog and will continue to listen to the show from 9 to 11 Monday through Friday. I hope to still be behind the microphone most days.
I do not want to become the face of breast cancer in the Twin Cities. I have become a reluctant expert on this disease. But, really, who would want to be the face of this disease? Who would want to become the go-to Survivor Girl?
I do realize that I am in an extraordinary situation...that, because I have lived my life on the public airwaves, I am in a unique position to raise awareness about breast cancer. I could do some good here. I could and I should.
To be honest, I don't yet know how--and when--I can use that position. I'll figure that out as I go. Right now, my sole focus in on healing and staying strong. So stay tuned and know that I'm pondering what my move will ultimately be.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you who have sent your prayers to me and my family. We feel the power of that wave of good wishes.
I know that many of you offer a positive thought or blessing in my direction as you cross the river. I feel it. I feel it. I feel it and I humbly thank you.