Today has been a day off for me but I couldn’t sleep in…I had to set an alarm to get up and get ready so I could leave and make it to a doctors appointment on time. It’s been a year since I’ve seen my Radiation Oncologist, Dr. Dorn, and it is time for a follow up. I got in my car and the closer I got to I-70, the more intense the drive began to feel. I haven’t had to get on I-70 for a long time and I certainly haven’t had to make the drive to Rose in months. The first thing I noticed was how hyper vigilant I was…and how ultra vulnerable I felt – driving at the mercy of other drivers not sucking. It was so odd that I felt SO conscious of that? I was so aware of the fact that a split second could truly be the difference in the day going well or the day taking a very tragic turn. And it made me remember my horrific car accident (the one that happened just 10 days before I was diagnosed) and how helpless I was, my car being tossed about on the road…

As my drive continued, heaviness kept heaping on my heart. I passed the Josephine exit and felt a wave of nausea so extreme I could have puked, the all-too-easy-to-recall memory of myself slumped in the passenger seat, head resting on the window, mind floating somewhere in the hell of chemo as I mindlessly watched the passing images outside. That was the exit we’d take when I was going to RMCC’s Midtown office to get extra fluids every.other.day during Rounds 3, 4, 5 and 6. It was always stupid early in the morning, my port bruised and pained from being accessed too often, I was barely able to function, dragging myself into the building, barely making it from cancer chair to car seat to infusion chair back to car seat back to cancer chair. What a dreadful time.

Colorado Blvd. approached and the impulse to turn the car’s vent system to internal air only to avoid the atrocious stench of the Purina factories was automatic and thoughtless…a practice I did e.v.e.r.y.t.i.m.e we drove to Rose because the smell was too much for my weak stomach to handle. Trudging down Colorado, traffic unchanged by covid, my stomach in my throat, my heart thumping. As I pulled into the lot, annoyed that it’s so full all of the time and it has the narrowest parking spots ever, the only thing that made the walk in today feel different was a mask on my face.

As I walked past the building, my reflection in the windows caught my eye. The wind blew my hair and I thought, ‘wow, my hair is getting long.’ I walked in and my most favorite rad nurse checked me in. I hadn’t seen her even the last time I was in last year so it had been a long time. She was pregnant during my treatment and I remember her announcing her pregnancy while I was there on a treatment day. I felt so honored to have been there to hear her joy. She stood up today to greet me, a pregnant belly sticking out once again. It was both a precious sight and a punch to the gut memory. It was as if no time had passed. And she recognized me right away, mask and long hair and all and even said, ‘wow, your hair is getting long.’ Funny that I had thought the same thing just seconds earlier. I filled out paperwork, and then I waited.

A different nurse, one I don’t know all that well, called me back. Another one of my favorite rad nurses recognized me right away (again, mask and long hair and all) as I walked back to the radiation area and emphatically waved and said hi. I emphatically waved back and felt my heart both sag and fill up for being remembered. As the other nurse was getting my weight, I looked up (I never look at the scale…) and saw the “I’m Done with Radiation” pin board. Hundreds of ribbons and pins…and I found mine instantly. Huh. Picked it right out. Whoa. I did this. I’ve been radiated. We proceeded into the exam room, I updated the nurse, put on a gown, waited for the doc, heard someone ring their ‘I’m done’ bell out in the hall, memories flooded, updated the doc, felt self-conscious as she examined me, discussed the next follow-up in a year, said good-bye (weird little waves because of stupid covid), got dressed and walked out.

I saw Stephanie on my way out. We talked a little more since there weren’t any other patients waiting. I asked how she was. She’s good. I asked how her family was. They’re good. I asked how her son is. He’s 2. And he’s going to be a big brother to a new little sister due in March.

He’s 2.

He’s T  W  O.

I had radiation over 2 years ago.

And yet, it feels like yesterday. I think that’s why survivorship is mind-numbingly-hard. So much life has been lived…the space between the then and the now expanding…the distance growing longer…

And yet. Yesterday. Pregnant bellies, nurses, bells, ribbons, gowns, being touched, vulnerability. . . . .

My heart tonight is both+and. SO grateful for 2 years and counting. Grateful that I love seeing these people. Grateful that these people are people that I love despite the ‘why’ of knowing them. Grateful for a positive exam with no concerns. Grateful to come home and spend the rest of my day baking pies with my kid. Grateful for another Thanksgiving tomorrow. Yet my heart is SO heavy tonight with process, with memories, with the weirdness of time, with cancer survivorship being just as intensely cancer as cancer treatment, with grief and with awe that this is my story, with gratitude of getting to live it.

*Post 966

Seinfeld :: 11/25/17 :: Post 89

Today consisted of more trial and error. And some dry heaving. And some medical marijuana. And some feeling slightly better. And some eating. And some heartburn. And some sleeping.

And re-runs of Seinfeld.

And missing out on my in-laws Thanksgiving.

Cancer sucks.

If Only :: 11/25/18 :: Post 438

If only cancer would be the only thing on the “this is hard” list.

Gratitude Month Day 25 :: 11/25/19 :: Post 801

As this month is in its last week, I’m finding that November has been a difficult month over the past couple of years. 2017 was a year of chemo and the side effects from hell that were so very present. 2018 was just skimming the surface of the more lasting effects from the treatment of cancer. And this year, I’m in the beginning stages of survivorship which has a whole new level of unexpected difficulty. Not to mention that survivorship for me will include lifelong chronic pain that has to be forever managed because cancer is just the gift that keeps on giving……..

Gratitude Month Day 25 – I’m not happy about how this November is turning out. I had had different expectations, I think, based off of many people’s exclamations of ‘treatment is over!’ ‘Cancer is behind you!’ ‘You’re cancer free…’ and while some of that is true, I’m having to acknowledge that my story is just different. I’m not technically cancer-free. I mean, sure, there’s no evidence of disease on the cellular level (of course, for which I am beyond grateful), yet there is certainly evidence of disease in how I feel every single moment of every single day.

L I T E R A L L Y. But, I choose to remain grateful. And cancer has brought about so much incredible change in my life that in a backwards and upside down and inside out way, it has given me many gifts. What a bizarre place to be….. I hold in my hands quite the contradiction….