It has occurred to me that my cancer story lacks a postscript.
Last I left off, I was doing business development in a retail environment. I had decided to stop school because my job was becoming far too stressful.
Much has ensued in the previous months. So much that it seems ridiculous to recount it, but when I think back, I believe there was a purpose to taking a break from writing. Once I was diagnosed and going through treatment, I found myself isolated and internalizing the majority of my emotions. My main outlet was writing out my thoughts and this greatly protected me from having the reality of cancer bash me in the head.
Instead, I have spent the past months recounting my survivorship. A friend of mine had cautioned me once (having been a young adult that went through cancer herself): some people tend to focus on their cancer survival and it prevents them from moving on with their lives.
Instead, I have spent the past months recounting my survivorship. A friend of mine had cautioned me once (having been a young adult that went through cancer herself): some people tend to focus on their cancer survival and it prevents them from moving on with their lives.
I took this to heart, but even now, I sometimes find the awkward inclinations to bring up my cancer. I suppose the fact that I’m still in the period of time, post-treatment, when cancer recurrence is most likely isn’t helping my case. I find myself less concerned about dying and more frustrated that if my cancer came back, I might be kicking and screaming to the hospital. Perhaps I was more brave when I was going through all the tests and treatments because I didn’t know any better. If I had to do it again, I don’t know exactly how I’d react.
I get uncomfortable now when I have to go back to my doctor for blood work, port flushes, and PET scans. It’s confronting a past I don't necessarily want to remember. I know there is a good reason for the doctor visits and I feel lucky, oddly enough, that I get checked routinely. However, I find myself with symptoms akin to PTSD for the strangest of triggers. I’m already nervous about having the surgery to remove my port even though that is about a year away. I’m tired of being a pincushion, a science experiment, a life in precarious balance.
I get uncomfortable now when I have to go back to my doctor for blood work, port flushes, and PET scans. It’s confronting a past I don't necessarily want to remember. I know there is a good reason for the doctor visits and I feel lucky, oddly enough, that I get checked routinely. However, I find myself with symptoms akin to PTSD for the strangest of triggers. I’m already nervous about having the surgery to remove my port even though that is about a year away. I’m tired of being a pincushion, a science experiment, a life in precarious balance.
Health-wise, there isn’t too much to report, but it is interesting the things I’ve discovered in the post-treatment months. I’m still having some cognitive issues including forgetting memories and losing my train of thought often. It is somewhat rare when I don’t feel like I’m in some kind of fog. I've learned to gracefully recover from these moments and many people tell me they don't notice anything. I've had to take precautions to adapt to these changes is all. I jot down, possibly, more notes than necessary, especially daily tasks. If I don't make it stupid easy for myself to remember, I'll just lose the thought.
Aside from the minor cognitive impairment, off and on, I’ll notice some neuropathy in my fingers and toes. Days where the air is damp or when the weather is changing means my bones ache. I cannot tolerate alcohol like I used to and fear my poor liver has become damaged with my lack of gallbladder and taking the brunt of filtering out chemo chemicals.
Aside from the minor cognitive impairment, off and on, I’ll notice some neuropathy in my fingers and toes. Days where the air is damp or when the weather is changing means my bones ache. I cannot tolerate alcohol like I used to and fear my poor liver has become damaged with my lack of gallbladder and taking the brunt of filtering out chemo chemicals.
I had a recurrence scare last summer where a PET scan didn’t come back crystal clear, sending me on another road trip to MD Anderson to check in with the radiation oncologist I met the year before. She looked at the results and found nothing of concern, just some pesky radiation remnants. My mom and I had walked into the main building of MD Anderson with purpose and I looked around at the children and adults in the lobby obviously going through treatment. My hair had mostly grown in by this point and I don’t think I looked like a former cancer patient. I empathized with them but in my head silently repeated a mantra along the lines of: I will not be doing this again, I will not be doing this again, I will not be doing this again....
I recognize that cancer recovery is tough, but I also recognize it is a life path that is mimicked in a variety of circumstances. I find myself becoming more and more comfortable in my skin.
The balance in my life might be precarious, but it has become strengthened from many external sources: my soon-to-be husband, my new job, the satisfaction of returning to school, my friends and family.
The balance in my life might be precarious, but it has become strengthened from many external sources: my soon-to-be husband, my new job, the satisfaction of returning to school, my friends and family.
I see myself writing in the future and my post-treatment recovery thoughts will be reflected in a more positive light.
Stay tuned...
