Anniversaries...
I wrote the following on December 17, the second anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, but superstitiously held off posting these reflections while in the midst of a couple follow-up scans (aptly dubbed scanxiety by a friend from a support group!). Having gratefully received good results this week, I wanted to finally post this.
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Two years ago today, a radiologist interrupted my otherwise unremarkable rainy Thursday morning with news that would temporarily disrupt my life. “As suspected,” he began, and with those two words I knew that the biopsy results, while not what I wanted, were what I expected. I remember thinking it odd that a doctor I met only once, and whom I’ve never again seen since, gave me the most substantial medical news I had ever received. In most ways, he knew absolutely nothing about me and, yet, for a moment, he alone knew the journey I was about to face.
The remainder of that conversation was a blur, but the rest of that morning is not. The first 4 people to whom I reached out – all amazing women in their own rights and all connections from different parts of my life – unknowingly collectively created the foundation for the unbelievable support system I would feel from that day forward. Erin, the first friend who knew, the chosen friend whose knowing not only made it “real” but also simultaneously somehow helped me to feel incredibly safe despite all the uncertainty and fear surrounding me, held my heart from that moment forward. Lisa, the first person to whom I actually spoke, who over the course of my illness went from best boss to dear friend, eloquently gifted me priceless wisdom from her own cancer journey that I consistently find myself sharing with others who follow in our footsteps. Heidi, the most extraordinary sister a girl could have long before cancer, at whose apartment I finally arrived so I could tell her in person, who alternated holding my hand with nursing a newborn and parenting a toddler, a juggling act that would continue for the following 6 months as, we kidded, I became her third child. And Elizabeth, a brilliant and compassionate doctor and friend with whom I had lost touch many years earlier, who despite being on maternity leave replied within minutes when I emailed her and helped me decipher every report and navigate every single step of the journey. And that was just that morning.
These 4 angels were the first of many. I remain humbled by the love and support I felt throughout the past two years, and committed to paying it forward to anyone who finds themselves walking down a similar path.
As for me, I’m still finding my own way as a cancer survivor. There is so much to celebrate: Physically, I am probably in the best shape of my life, having regained any strength I initially lost with surgery and the stamina I lost with chemo. And my initial concern that I would never see anything other than “cancer” when I looked in the mirror is long behind me; plastic surgery is truly amazing, and hair grows back much faster (and better!) than I ever could have imagined. But there is also a lot more anxiety than I ever anticipated, coming and going in waves without warning, with moments that feel like depression scattered around, too, and learning to manage all of that is proving to be a bigger challenge than fighting the cancer itself. I’ve already had one substantial enough scare to warrant several scans and, although last week’s scan brought great news, I’m scared I won’t ever again not be scared, both for myself and for everyone I love. There is a vulnerability that cancer brought – and taught – that I can’t ever unknow, and that is at times a double-edged sword. It is a gift to be reminded how precious and fragile life is, to remember that none of us are promised tomorrow so we must live every today to its fullest. Learning to balance that perspective with the fears I currently feel is an ongoing battle, but it is one that I am immeasurably grateful to get the chance to navigate.