States of reform

The slump is over and the neuropathy is slowing disappearing. I’m elated to find my body responding better to activity. I’m enjoying the feeling of strength, both physically and mentally.

Part of me wants to run full speed ahead and not look back, but the other part reminds me that it is a process and a transition, that patience is required.

It’s a shock to most people when I explain that while I’m finished with treatments, I’m not technically in the cancer-clear. It’s not that I want to be fatalistic about it at all, it is just reality. I will still have the port in my body for at least another year. I still have to go to the doctor routinely for blood work and PET scans. What is positive, however, is that these appointments are more staggered in the proceeding months. According to my oncologist, after about 2 years of negative tests, I can typically say I’m officially cancer-free. Then again, nothing is overly typical about cancer.

I realize going forth that it’s all a series of markers and anniversaries. It’s a bit of a grim thought process, but it’s a set of reminders of what has transpired and what my life will look like beyond today.

This past week I have been trying to get acquainted with a new natural looking wig. I wore it while grocery shopping and at work. I thought perhaps it would help me in the post-treatment process. I will be utterly honest: it looks good but I hate wearing it. It hangs limply on a hook on the towel rack like road kill. Every morning when I groggily stumble to the sink to wash my face, I see it and always do a double take.

I don’t look bad with my shaved head at all, but it’s still a reminder of a body wrought with havoc. I’m afraid of scaring children when I return to work at the library. Now that it’s finally growing in, people assume I did it on purpose. If I get a wary look, I usually just smile brightly. Kill them with kindness, right?

Some of the chemo and steroid-induced “puffiness” is leaving my body. However, I am sad to inform that my attempt to fit into my lovely yellow dirndl for Oktoberfest was met with me making a face in the mirror because of its corset-like tightness. It’s supposed to be roomier to fit in food and drink! Alas, it will not be making an appearance. Scheisse. This girl likes to breathe now and again.

The days have been coasting by quickly and not a moment passes when I am grateful that it is only going to get better from this point forth.

No day has gotten me down because I keep reflecting on these thoughts: I pummeled cancer into submission. I am an army of me sans mutated cells. And I have the scars to prove it.