The Great Unpacking Of Love
Part 7

But this is a poor understanding of this disastrous cancer. Like a plaster that sticks to your skin, it is not easy to get rid of. He follows me like a shadow, faithful to each of my steps, my gestures, he loathes falling into oblivion, like a pernicious lover.

Christmas 2016, after a wonderful New Year’s Eve, I received a major slap in the face. During a routine check-up, my hematologist told me of a new relapse. He’s almost embarrassed to tell me. This second relapse and the length of the illness will make me experience Hell like Hieronymus Bosch. On this point, I will not congratulate God who is seriously lacking in fair play.

The world is falling apart once again for me. The medical team that has surrounded me since the beginning of this nightmare seems just as disappointed as I am. We all believed in this providential transplant! Our disappointment is immense. Deep down, I hope one of them will play a nice trick on me. Unfortunately, since my first relapse, I have understood that medicine is far from being an exact science. Each patient is different, each patient reacts differently, each cancer is different. I, who have already gone through the eye of the needle twice, who have endured all the possible and unimaginable treatments and examinations, a little special thought for fibroscopy, did I deserve that? No, that’s not possible ! I’m tired of fighting, I’m tired of spending more time in the medical world than in the family. I’m fed up with not seeing my children, I’m fed up with living between parentheses, I’m fed up with Tricatel’s cap!

My hematologist, just as disappointed as me, tells me that I have 3% cancer cells in the b***d test. It’s not much, I tell myself, there is hope. But we still don’t know this cancer traitor well. A few days later, the result of the marrow puncture was clear: 60% leukemia cells. This is the bamboo shootout. My brain goes into overdrive, my neurons don’t take three seconds to understand that “Here we go again”! I realize I am in a serious relapse.

Then the perfect little leukemia manual scrolls through my head: port-a-cath, marrow puncture, neutrophils, oncologist, hematologist, plasters, sterile room, zero ball, nausea, vomiting, pain, b***d test… But still once, without counting on my magician and his team who pulled me out of their big hat: “Immunotherapy”. What is that ? Fantastic Four tells me I’m lucky. Six months ago, they would not have been able to offer me this brand new treatment. This bears the barbaric name of “Blinatumomab”. OK, but what exactly is it? This treatment will mobilize my immune system, my defense system against illness.

This is an important innovative avenue in cancer research. Blinatumomab will only destroy my cancer cells. The side effects will be much less severe than traditional chemotherapy. Yes! Hair is mine, nausea is damned. Come on, go for Blinatumomab! My gurus tell me about some possible neurological disorders, all reversible. The icing on the cake is that hospitalization times are shorter. Once treatment has started, it is done on an outpatient basis. What comfort! This allows me to be at home with my family, far from the medical world which constantly throws illness back in my face.

The start of the treatment will give me much more surprising effects than the hallucinogenic Pompidol mushrooms commonly known as Aspergillosis. My morale is yo-yoing, I’m flirting with Mr. Parkinson and my hands are shaking like a young girl writing to her first love. Fortunately, these effects are short-lived. Then, my treatment looks like a long, quiet river. My magic potion with an unpronounceable name diffuses through my body day and night, making me feel like the heroine of a science fiction film. But no, Joséphine, no, you’re not dreaming! This is reality!

Once again, I am surrounded by outstanding doctors, with unusual humanity and extraordinary tenacity who push me upwards, towards the positive even if sometimes I drag my feet. These women and men with incredible scientific knowledge could take themselves for Jean de La Fontaine’s frog, but this is not the case. Their humility builds my admiration. But fighting cancer, like the other two times, also involves nurses, caregivers, cleaners, volunteers and psychologists. Everyone brings me their kindness in their own way, their positive vibes that push me to move forward.

Let us not forget, as always, the precious help of my family and friends. My two children are proving to be the greatest psychiatrists in the world, without any diploma, other than unconditional Love.

But cancer sometimes takes surprising turns. Here I am embarked on a beautiful adventure. Despite myself, I’m going to play the starlet! Early one Sunday morning, the phone rings at home. He’s my great magician. My b***d only makes one circuit. At this time, it must be serious. He reassures me right away. Phew! He would like me to testify on television about my immunotherapy treatment. He thinks it would be interesting for me to talk about my experience as part of a program aimed at raising funds for research. Such a proposition cannot be refused! Here I am taken behind the media scene for my greatest happiness. What a superb experience! It just goes to show that cancer leads to everything, especially the unexpected.

This time again, I am doing well. My treatment seems to be working. But I’ve been living day by day for a long time now and I’m no longer planning on the comet. I am content with little, I am amazed by little and I go to the essentials. I tell myself that equipment can always be replaced, human beings never.

My greatest joy is walking down the street without anyone looking at me strangely, proof that the stigma of cancer has disappeared.

Just like the first two times, my life goes back to normal and very quickly I no longer think about this damn cancer. My life becomes ordinary again for my greatest happiness. Ordinary? Almost. Everything has a different flavor, I appreciate every moment that life offers me. The Carpe Diempre takes on its full meaning and resonates in me, me to whom destiny very nearly extinguished the lights of life for good.

This whole “cancer” life journey has involuntarily made me experience the most beautiful human adventure, despite very painful moments. I discovered Human beings at their most beautiful and noble.

The Human in the gift of self, in the service of others. I met with professionals who were passionate about their profession, passionate about Human Beings.

Despite everything, I am happy to leave my survival ship to return to dry land. To hell with the pain, to hell with the dark thoughts, to hell with the hospital, no more octopus, I’m alive, I live, I live and I sincerely hope that my talents as a budding writer stay there!