The C Word, two years later
Time has sped up and time has slowed down; like a movie that you can’t decide if you want to replay some parts and fast forward through others. In the early morning gray of Sunday morning, I woke up to find my beautiful children sleeping soundly with their puppy, all snuggled together in my bed.
In these moments of quiet, it is then that I remember, like a dream I was suddenly woken from. This terrible reality has been living with us for 2 years now, haunting these moments, taking part of our lives like a ghost that you can’t shake. Sometimes this ghost is in the distance, and you feel like you have some control over it. Other times, it’s presence is suffocating. I’ve read so many stories about how cancer has changed peoples lives, and how they’ve found the silver lining to being diagnosed. I never subscribed to that mentality and could never really find the “blessings” in my diagnosis. I have realized that my initial diagnosis forced me to re-evaluate my life, perhaps at a time where I was already prepared to do such things. Cancer just put this perspective that I needed to start being happy with the way I lived my life.
Finding out the cancer was back and had metastasized still doesn’t feel real. 1.5 cycles of chemotherapy in and my full time job has become advocating for my care, my rights and my health. In the days leading up to October 16, I questioned how I would want to honor it. Am I really proud of “not dying” as so many cancerversary cakes state? Do I even want to recognize this date? What do any of these milestones mean anyway? Every waking moment has been filled with something related to my cancer - is this what my new normal will look like? If I am ignoring it, am I living in denial? If I focus on it, am I completely consumed with things not in my control?
You see, it’s quite the mindfuck. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
So back to October 16. The memories of the day are so clear and so crisp. I remember exactly what we did, said, and how we reacted to the news that the lump I felt was indeed cancer. Two years later, in the hustle of living our lives, I almost forgot about it. I was so focused on getting my week prepped and kids to a party and trying not to puke along the way, I forgot. I forgot it was the anniversary of the day that would forever change my life- even though I never really wanted it to.
But then Marc brought home a cupcake - my favorite cupcake. The one worth eating sugar for. He knew it was a tough day, but I couldn’t find the words to explain to my children why we were having fancy cupcakes on a random Sunday. They just thought dad was rad (as usual). The truth is- I still don’t have the right words to say. I don’t know how to honor the day. I don’t know how to feel about it. Celebrating these milestones sometimes feels so important, but lately it feels like all that matters is how we move forward.
That the truth is I’ve been living with cancer as part of my daily rhetoric for 720 days. And we’re still here to fight, live and tell the story. But today, in this moment, I’m more focused on what is happening tomorrow, and the next day, and how we plan to get through this one more time. I’m more terrified of how to accept the realization that I will live with breast cancer the rest of my life.
I don’t think that this takes away from honoring the milestones and how far we’ve come. But I know I’m also not hitting it out of the park in giving my fight the honor it deserves. I’ll get there - in my own time and on my own terms. For now, I’ll take the cupcake as a W and mentally prepare for my next round of chemotherapy today. Because what matters most is how we move forward into year 3.