I stayed pretty normal throughout chemo. I clung to normal. So I rode the PATH and subway (even home from chemo sometimes... Yeesh). I went out, I wore perfume. I worked on a fashion shoot, despite my dip into the world of unisex clothing. I didn't buy a particular pair of shoes that were too expensive, even though I had the world's best excuse. I kept on doing all that old Emily stuff, so that I didn't die along with my cancer cells (and hair follicles).
The treatment that kills your cancer can also kill you. Because cancer is not a bacteria or a fungus. It is born of us. So any assault on a tumor is also an assault on the body as a whole. Parts of you are dead or dying all the time.
So there's an undead thing going on. A chemozombie. You're pumped full of poison. You should probably be dead, but you're walking around. Your brain's fried, so you're about as dumb as a real zombie. Your joints are stiff from chemopause and taxol and herceptin, so you kind of walk like this:
Hook 'em up to IV stands and these guys can be seen in infusion suites across the nation.