One year ago this week, my first chemo treatment loomed. Now,
six months of chemo and radiation are six months behind me. My first set of scans
and exams show no evidence of cancer. I feel healthy, and unless friends and
family are just being nice, I look healthy, too. My scarves and never-worn wig are
all packed away. My hair is back and I am active and able to do everything I
did before.
Most days, I dare to
believe that we kicked cancer’s butt.
And yet.
The fear of recurrence still loiters inside me. Turns
out, the Cancer journey doesn’t end with diagnosis and treatment. There’s a
stage called beyond.
The shadow of cancer is not easy to shake.
Last week, a neighbor asked me why I still have the chemo
port imbedded in my chest. I told her they usually leave it in about a year,
and I purposely haven’t asked the doctor about taking it out. Part of me wants
to keep it for the same reason I stowed away the scarves and unworn wig—hoping as
long as I own them, I’ll never need them again.
“Ah, bargaining,” my neighbor said.
As soon as she said it, it hit me—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Bargaining
is one of the stages of grief!
I keep thinking I should be done with grieve and fear by
now, that I should have arrived at acceptance.
Then I remind myself that grief has no timeframe—it is not a straight line.
I have a newfound respect for every cancer survivor striding
beyond cancer to their five-year
cancer-free anniversary.
How did I never see their courage before or realize they
take each determined step with the shadow of cancer still nipping at their heels?
