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.