It Feels Like a Tiny Miracle

 To live another year in and of itself is a kind of miracle if you stop to think about it. Think about all the things we do every day that risk our lives. Like driving. Or walking across the street. Most of the time we don't even think about it. And why should we? Today is likely to be pretty much like yesterday.

But, today, I am celebrating living without cancer for the last four years. Of course, I don't know if I'm cancer-free. I was supposed to have an MRI last week but it got canceled. (That's a whole other, rather annoying, story.) It will be another month before I have the test and related results. Until then, I'm taking it on faith that I'm still cancer-free. So, celebrate I shall.

It's hard to describe what that feels like. If you've had cancer, you know. I was well aware that the anniversary was coming up but it wasn't until I was a few miles into my morning walk that I realized that it was today. That realization brought tears to my eyes.

Every year, this anniversary brings up a variety  of emotions. Immense gratitude with a sprinkle of relief. Someone close to me recently expressed that it's a moment of exhaling when you didn't realize you were holding your breath. I sometimes review my journal. I reread the survival statistics. I think ahead to what my future may or may not hold.

There's something called "scanxiety" which is the feeling of anxiety that many cancer (or post-cancer) patients feel every time they get a scan as they wait for an "all clear" result. There's also a sense of waiting for the second shoe to drop. It's a feeling of cheating death, in a sense, as if surviving one cancer only means there will be a second, worse cancer. It's worse for those of us who have had more than one cancer. We're always looking over our shoulders in case we can see it coming.

That's part of why I walk so much. It's my therapy - both physical and mental. It's when I feel strongest. It's also when I feel most grateful. It reminds me of my cancers (that's when I most think about it) but it also keeps me going as if I can outrun(walk) it.

And so, living through another year of scans, anxiety, and checking over my shoulder feels a little like an accomplishment even though all I really did is wake up for another 365 days. I woke up. I loved. And I was loved. And, I'm cancer-free. So that's not too bad.

I've graduated!

... in a manner of speaking.

My oncologist said she doesn't need to see me anymore. Not until I need her and I don't need her. Not right now anyway and, hopefully, not ever again!

Three Years

Not that I usually worry about these things but I just got the results  from my most recent scans: a chest CT and leg MRI. Everything is all clear and while I usually say I’m not worried it’s always a relief when they find nothing. Also of note, I’ve been cancer free for over three years now which feels particularly good because it was less than three years between the two. Hopefully, it will be a very long time before cancer finds me again. Better if it never does. In the meantime, I’ll just keep walking and hope that I stay a step ahead. 

Feeling grateful to be alive. 

Today

Today, I celebrate being three years cancer free. Congratulations to me and to everyone else who is surviving, thriving, or was a caregiver to someone who is.

Courage to those going through it now. 

Another dance with cancer.

I started this blog with back pain. Thus the name of the blog - back(b)log. It was a blog (or a log) chronicling my experience with intense back pain. I had a lot of readers then but it didn't create the community I had hoped to. I was experiencing something awful and I wanted to connect with other people who could empathize and understand what I was going through.

Instead, I learned to write and make people laugh, of all things.

Laughter is good medicine.

Then, I got breast cancer. I didn't write about that as much and I sure as hell didn't promote my blog posts on Facebook like I did with the back pain. I don't know why I isolated with the breast cancer. I remember the things I told myself back then but I haven't had any therapy about it so I'm not sure why, exactly, I was so intensely private about it.

I figured if anyone read what I wrote, then fine, but no one ever commented or said anything to me about it. It wasn't one of those viral stories of resilience and bravery except only to me and those who are closest to me and that was fine.

For whatever reason, I glanced at the last two posts on back(b)log dated January 6, 2022, and February 20, 2022. The January entry celebrated the start of a new year and a hope that after six surgeries related to breast cancer and reconstruction, that I would have a surgery-free year.

It was not.

The February entry celebrated the passing of six months since my last surgery. 

In the time between the January post and the February one, I had found a lump. This time, in the back of my right thigh. By May, it was the size of a baseball.

But in February, the lump was small and I didn't have a diagnosis which didn't come for another five months. It was undifferentiated pleomorphic sarcoma (UPS) - a rare, aggressive type of soft tissue cancer. In July, I started radiation. In October, I had my seventh surgery in three and a half years.

I am now over two years cancer free. I had zero surgeries in 2023 and 2024 was the first year I didn't drain my HSA account.

Am I anxious about it coming back? Some days, absolutely. But that's part of why I walk so much. I used walking to get ready for all those surgeries and I walked to help in my recovery from them. I also walk for my mental health and to manage stress.

It's just ironic to look back on this blog and see how I was celebrating survival just as I was in the process of discovering I had cancer again. But life goes on and I'm part of the living so that's what I'm celebrating now.

Six Months

 It's been six months since my sixth surgery. All's well so far.

Off to a good start

 One week into the new year and all is well, boobwise. I had an MRI the last week of December and that came back "all clear." So, there's that.

I've had three years of surgery during two years of COVID. I would just like one year off for good behavior. (At least!)

I'm looking at you, 2022.