In one year, five months and three days, I will have been cancer-free for five years. Five years is supposed to be a significant milestone for breast cancer survivors. It's an indication that your chances are good, that you might have had your narrow escape, that you can be hopeful for a long and healthy life.
Reaching this milestone will certainly be cause to celebrate, but I am not fooling myself into believing that I will never have to worry about cancer again. I once thought my health would never fail me, at least not until I was old and grey. I was mistaken. Now, my mind will never be free from worry that it will come back. I will never be able to have another checkup without the sleeplessness the night before.
I've been up since 3 a.m. There's a routine checkup scheduled with the radiation oncologist today. I'm not even supposed to be having this appointment. I was told I don't need these particular appointments anymore, but somebody forgot to cancel it, and it was easier to agree to attend than convince their office otherwise. Besides, I wasn't all that thrilled to hear that the frequency of my checkups is being reduced to twice a year. Attending these appointments is reassuring to me. It makes me feel as if someone is looking out for me.
I don't trust myself anymore. The tissue is damaged from radiation and surgery. There are lumps and bumps that they assure me are normal consequences of the treatment, but how can I tell the difference? When I self-examine, I can't tell what's supposed to be there and what's not. What if I'm passing off something deadly as scar tissue from the surgery?
No, I will never be free. Cancer has touched my life, and I can never go back.
Reaching this milestone will certainly be cause to celebrate, but I am not fooling myself into believing that I will never have to worry about cancer again. I once thought my health would never fail me, at least not until I was old and grey. I was mistaken. Now, my mind will never be free from worry that it will come back. I will never be able to have another checkup without the sleeplessness the night before.
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I don't trust myself anymore. The tissue is damaged from radiation and surgery. There are lumps and bumps that they assure me are normal consequences of the treatment, but how can I tell the difference? When I self-examine, I can't tell what's supposed to be there and what's not. What if I'm passing off something deadly as scar tissue from the surgery?
No, I will never be free. Cancer has touched my life, and I can never go back.
I've not spoken too much of this before, for reasons unknown to me. I think during treatment, it was all I could think about, so when it was finished I was looking forward to getting back to normal. I didn't want cancer to take over, but now I realise that it is part of me. It is part of my history, and I hope it stays that way, in the past, but it is what has made me stronger or perhaps, more accurately, it's made me realise that I am strong.
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