Goodbye, Chemo
In support of
The Castillo Family
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The Castillo Family
From July until now, everything has revolved around chemo. It feels like my whole world shrank down to infusion rooms, needles, cold chairs, and trying to survive something that felt bigger than me and trying to talk myself into getting through more when I honestly felt like I had nothing left to give.
I averaged five appointments each week. Five times of showing up when my body was screaming that it couldn’t. Of letting people hook me up to drugs that poisoned me so they could save me. I’ve never felt so weak or so worn down in my entire life. I’ve cried in bathrooms, in my car, in my kitchen, in waiting rooms, and sometimes before I even opened my eyes in the morning.
My parents have held me up in ways I don’t even know how to describe. Those first months of chemo were hell. Six-hour infusion days where my body felt like it was betraying me and time moved painfully slow. My mom sat with me through every second. She saw all of it—the tears, the fear, the shutdowns, the moments I didn’t want to talk or move or feel anything. She didn’t try to fix it. She just stayed. She stayed when I was miserable, when I was quiet, when I was upset, when I was exhausted to the point of not making sense. She advocated for me when I couldn’t think straight. She held my hand when I felt like I might break.
My dad drove us to Milwaukee again and again and again. He would get us lunch because I couldn’t leave the chair I was tethered to. He waited in lobbies for hours at a time while I sat hooked up to meds that drained me. He didn’t show frustration or boredom or resentment. He just showed up. Every time.
My parents did the quiet, heavy, necessary things that no one ever sees—but I saw them. I won’t ever forget.
My friends stepped in too—Brittany, Steph, and Natalie. It takes a special kind of person to walk into a chemo center with someone. That’s not a light thing. It’s not a casual favor. It’s entering into one of the hardest parts of my life, and you did it with kindness and zero hesitation. It’s sitting beside someone you care about while they go through something awful and you can’t fix it. But you showed up. You sat with me. You helped carry something that felt uncarryable. My sister, Suzanne, and Alex each came too, and having them there reminded me that I wasn’t doing this alone, even on the days I felt painfully alone inside my own skin.
My Aunt Sheri faithfully came and stayed with us for a couple of days each month, always willing to help in whatever way we needed. She was a much-needed reprieve for both Alex and my mom—stepping in to care for the boys so Alex could breathe for a moment, taking me to appointments, and managing the house when everything felt overwhelming. Having that much uninterrupted time with her has been one of the unexpected silver linings of chemo, and I’m so grateful for it.
So many people stepped in to fill the gaps for the boys—through playdates, rides and surprise gifts or activities to keep them busy and smiling. Thank you for pouring into them when our hands were full and for reminding them they are surrounded by a village that adores them.
To all of you who brought meals, cleaned our home, cut our grass, did our laundry, and quietly took care of a hundred little things we didn’t have the energy to manage—thank you. You showed up in the most practical, sacrificial ways, and you took so much of the day-to-day weight off our shoulders so we could focus on our boys and on my healing.
To both sets of our parents—who stepped in again and again to keep the boys so Alex could focus on helping me when I was too sick to care for myself, or simply gave us the gift of a break—thank you. You truly are the next best thing for our boys. You gave them consistency, joy, and moments of normalcy in a season that felt anything but normal. You loved them with the same tenderness we would have, and in doing so, you cared for us, too. Your presence steadied our family when everything around us felt uncertain, and we’re forever grateful for the way you showed up, without hesitation, every single time we needed you.
Also, a huge shout out to Suzanne, Brittany and Jenna for managing this support page so I can focus on what my body needs.
Each of your kindness didn’t just support us—it breathed relief and peace into our home during a season that often felt overwhelming. Every act of service, no matter how small it might have seemed to you, made a real difference to us. Thank you for carrying what we couldn’t and loving us so tangibly along the way.
Right now, my body is in this weird in-between. No more chemo, but nowhere near recovered. It’ll take months for my immune system to come back, and some days that feels discouraging. Healing feels both close and impossibly far at the same time. It will be slow and messy and nothing like the clean versions of it people talk about.
Prayer Requests
Pray that my body slowly, stubbornly fights its way back toward strength. Even tiny steps matter right now.
Pray that this month off gives me real joy with my family—especially the boys and Alex—because I need joy in a way I’ve never needed it before.
Pray for wisdom and peace as we make decisions about my surgery in January. I’ll share more details when I can.
I cannot think of a way to adequately express our gratitude for your endless prayers, support, and love these last few months. Thank you.
Love,
Elly
Comments
Carol.gray927
Nick Anderson
I just wanted to take a moment to remind you of something incredibly important: you are a hero. The strength, courage, and resilience you’ve shown through this battle is nothing short of inspiring. Most people will never understand the kind of fight you’re fighting, but everyone who knows you can see your determination and your heart.
This chapter doesn’t define you. your perseverance does, and it’s exactly why you’re going to be a success story. You’re doing everything right, you’re pushing through the hardest days, and you’re proving every step of the way that you’re stronger than anything thrown at you.
Keep believing in yourself the way all of us believe in you. Better days are ahead, and you’re walking toward them with incredible bravery.
You’ve got this, and we’re all with you, every step of the way.
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