One Year

Tomorrow will be one year since I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I’m not sure how I feel about this.  How am I supposed to feel? I’m not going to celebrate; throw a “hooray I have cancer” party.  It feels wrong to not acknowledge the day though.

 It was a day that changed my life.  Survivors frequently refer to events in their life as BC (before cancer).  I get it.  I feel it.  October 28, 2012 marks the last morning I woke up BC.  I prepped the house for Hurricane Sandy and then went to the hospital for what I thought would be a couple hours.  I had no idea I’d be spending the night.  I imagine the days that followed were as surreal for me as they were for everyone around me experiencing the effects of Sandy.  The storm plus the diagnosis made it easy to feel like I was trapped in a nightmare that would shortly end.  When life started to resume for everyone and I was still left staggering through a sea of doctors appointments, reality started to set in. I realized it was not a nightmare and my life was not a movie on network tv. This was now my life.  This still is my life, surreal as it sometimes feels.

I feel like I am still a novelty for the people around me and I wonder when the newness will wear off.  When cancer will seem like an excuse instead of a reason. I worry the support I’ve been receiving will dry up and I’ll just be that cancer girl.  I’m already tired of cancer and all it brings to my life.  I envy the early stage women who mark off a few months of their life as “that time I had cancer.”

My life has changed immeasurable in the past year, some for the better, some for the worse.  Honestly I have to say there has been more good than bad.  The diagnosis sucked, bad scans sucked, mouth sores sucked, not being able to play in our derby bouts sucks, still having cancer definitely sucks, but I have gained so much more.  I got married, twice.  I’ve learned how awesome my friends and family are.  I’ve seen the kindness of strangers.  I’ve reconnected with friends I thought I had lost.  People have rallied around me like I never thought possible.  I had an entire summer of not needing to shave my legs or bikini line (seriously, how awesome is that?).

I’m tempted to go back to that emergency room and let Dr. Reynolds know I’m doing pretty damn good considering my diagnosis.  I’m alive, I’m smiling, I’m happy.  I have great doctors; I have a team that cares about me.  The nurse practitioner actually told me last week that I make HER day because even if I’m in there showing them a painful sore on my tongue, I’m still smiling. 

Frankly, perspective hasn’t escaped me; there are many people far worse off than I am. I want to celebrate that I’ve seen another year come and go but I still have that fear of wondering how many I have left.  This was something I thought about frequently, obsessing over the numbers as I’m prone to do.  I now just try to live my life.  Be my version of normal as best I can.  I can’t forget I have cancer though.  I have a daily pill schedule so involved it requires a spreadsheet. I remember each time I look in the mirror and see the rash strewn across my face and inch of hair standing straight up.  No, I’m not immune to the gravity of tomorrow.  Should I let it have such gravity? Is that a choice I’m making?  I’m not really sure, but I know I'm alive right now, and that's worth celebrating.