The Liberated Voice, New York, NY Videos

On Wednesday, August 28, I banged the gong (and rang the bell!) on Mount Sinai West’s infusion floor, to mark the completion of my chemotherapy. There was a large gathering of the staff to celebrate—David recorded video of the celebration, and I’ve appended it to this post if you’d like to see it.

When I checked in with my oncologist before beginning my last round of chemo, he pronounced me “cured.” I’ll still need to be vigilant, take good care of myself, and continue to follow up with my doctors for the foreseeable future. But the likelihood of a recurrence is as low as could be hoped for, so far as we can tell right now.

What this means is that tomorrow, Monday, September 9, will be the first day of the rest of my life. The first day that I actually get to start feeling better, and then continue to feel better.

Throughout my treatment, whenever I started feeling a little better, I’d immediately get knocked down again by the next round of chemo. Now I get to look forward to that not happening.

You would think that this would delight me, and it does, but in addition to the delight there is so much confusion and apprehension, and I don’t even really know how to talk about it. Much of the pain from my surgeries and the chemo has already diminished, but the brain fog has gotten progressively worse over time. I’ll get my brain back, and hopefully on the soon side, but meanwhile I feel like my whole experience is somewhere off to the distant side of the rest of the world.

Sci/fi and fantasy references can be helpful. Maybe the Star Trek fans among you will understand when I say I feel like Kathryn Janeway, captain of the Voyager, my ship having been unexpectedly flung to the far reaches of the Delta quadrant, with no expedient way home. There are valuable lessons to be learned here, and adventures to be had… but all I want is to go home.

And the Neil Gaiman fans. We’re revisiting the Sandman tv series on Netflix, and I feel even deeper empa