Almost a year ago my cancer super hero got the news that she was cancer free. Ten months after being diagnosed, a double mastectomy, chemotherapy & radiation she was officially in remission. She had done it. She kicked the shit out of cancer.
We celebrated this incredible feat. It was the end of a long journey. On to this next chapter of life. Or so I thought.
You see, the “Big C” has this was of almost paralyzing you from ever truly turning the page. There is always something. It just doesn’t end because you hear the words “cancer free”.
While there isn’t the same volume of medical appointments as when she “had” cancer, they still exist. Constantly reminding you of this horrendous disease. Check-ups. Preventative treatments. Insurance consultations. Blood work. Poking and prodding.
I find myself constantly in worry mode. She’s tired: is her white-blood cell count low? She’s having a bad day: is she depressed? She wants new boobs: is she ready for this? She’s getting migraines: should she be back to work?
More recently Dani has had pains in her chest. When she was first diagnosed there was a lump on her chest bone pretty much between her breasts. At the time the doctor’s examined it and determined it was nothing to worry about – maybe scar tissue or calcium build-up.
This one has almost sent me over the edge: is the cancer back?
The doctor says it’s just residual from one of the preventative treatments she was given in December. I want to believe him. I really do. I want to have trust in the medical system. But it has failed Dani before.
I’m generally a pretty happy person. That doesn’t mean that I’m always the glass-half-full-life-is-peachy type though. In-fact, these last two years I find myself thinking the worse more often than not. Cancer has made me jaded. I suppose it’s a coping mechanism – prepare for the worst, hope for the best.0