I came across an article the other day that referenced “the first missed dose.” Only a few of us know the significance of the first missed dose.
Treatments seem to be going well. Yet, they take their toll. Pink buckets and cool washcloths. Couch pillows and popsicles. Lab sticks and doctor visits and the next round of chemotherapy. And the next…and the next…and the next.
Then during one visit, the doctor says….”I think we’ll skip this dose.” What? Why would we do that? What do you mean? Of course we’ll do this round. Yet something was definitely different. The resignation. The sad eyes.
So life starts over. A new vision. A new goal. “Let’s make it as good as it can be.” So no more pink buckets, cool washcloths, couch pillows or popsicles. Instead, more hugs and tears and glances.
Finally, one day, the treatments are over. But the rest of the journey is just beginning.
Farther Along 
Despite what’s coming, I see a lot of hope in this post. Time for more hugs and tears and glances and no more buckets. Reminds of Sherwin Nuland’s, book “How We Die,” and that there are times when stopping treatment is the most humane and loving option–devastating though the loss will be.
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Barbara,
“Liking” this post—its contents— really should not be an option. Please know that, like Dottye’s Alex, “I don’t want to like this.” But my heart lurches for all the missed doses, and I wanted you to know that I am thinking of you and the first missed doses you were confronted with.
Kay
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