November 11th has special meaning as we remember and
honor those who have served and fought for our freedom and all that we are
thankful for.
This year, November 11th is also the one year anniversary
of my last chemo treatment—a marker in a different kind of battle, a very
personal war.
So what has changed in a year?
For one thing, I have a head full of hair—an external
sign that the “good” cells affected by treatment are healing. My body once
again feels like my own.
That leaves my mind and spirit.
A phone message from the doctor’s office still sends a
shiver through me, even when it can’t be bad news because I haven’t had a test
or exam in weeks. I get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I hear about
someone else’s cancer recurrence. The difference, 12 months later, is most
days, I’m strong enough to remind myself everyone’s cancer is
different. Today, it’s easier not to take another person’s cancer outcome on as
my own.
I am more acutely aware that cancer is everywhere.
It’s not just the people we know who have it; it’s the daily mention of cancer in
the news, commercials, books and TV. The next time someone has cancer on a TV
show, note the bleakness in everyone’s voice and eyes when we learn that it’s stage 4. Am I the only one who never noticed
before that cancer is always stage 4
and seemingly hopeless on TV?
In almost every novel I read, there’s a character—usually
a woman—that dies from cancer. Am I reading too much women’s lit?
A year ago those TV shows and books freaked me out so
much I had to turn the show off or put the book down. Today, I try to remind myself they
are not my life.
I do not want to be held hostage by fear.
Last month, at AtlantiCare’s Women’s Health Event, it really resonated with me when Christina
Baker Kline called herself a cancer veteran rather than a cancer survivor. http://www.pressofatlanticcity.com/life/cancer-survivors-show-resilience-share-experiences-and-stories/article_40e31d36-6947-11e5-86aa-4b4373745f5d.html
Then, someone who read my recent Philadelphia Inquirer essay,
Cancer through the Rearview Mirror, identified as a Cancer Thriver.
A Cancer Thriver.
As my body, mind, and spirit continue to heal, that is what I want to be.
