I had intended to write the last entry of this blog on
January 2nd, the one-year anniversary of my last day of
chemotherapy. As far back as November I’d been looking forward to January 2nd,
by December I was brainstorming ideas for a party or a fancy dinner to
commemorate it. That was the day that was supposed to end this blog journey, it
was supposed to be a triumphant end. The one-year point would mark the moment
that his changed from a fresh and raw pain to a memory of something that
happened once, a long time ago. I wanted that, but it didn’t happen.
I didn’t throw a party or have a fancy dinner or write an
ending to this blog. It suddenly felt strange, “off” somehow, inappropriate to
celebrate. The more time and distance
that I put between myself and the end of treatment, the less I feel like the prototypical
spunky survivor.
It’s true I’ve spent a great deal of time, most of it
documented on this blog, looking on the bright side of things. I wanted to be a
good patient, a positive force, the kind of silver-linings cancer survivor that
garners praise for being “motivational” and “an inspiration”. I still feel that
way, most days, and I am really quite grateful that my positive attitude held
strong when I most needed it to. But there are other days, lots of days, that I
am not thankful for my experience or grateful for my good luck. I’m angry that
I lost so much time, frustrated that I haven’t been to heal my shattered
self-confidence, bitter, anxious, sad. When I do have a bad day, an
angry-frustrated-bitter-day, I can usually figure out what it is that triggered
it. I still get impossibly frustrated when my hair won’t do what I want it to
and I don’t have the option of throwing it up into a ponytail. I still don’t feel like my body is entirely
my own. I still get overwhelmingly
anxious at my oncology check-ups. I
still have dreams where I’m not done with chemo. And I’m still really, really
not OK with the fact that this happened to me
I guess it’s getting better. There are gradually less
reminders around me, more days when I don’t think about cancer at all. The
truth is, I’d love to throw a party to celebrate the end, but I am less and
less sure when that day will come. For now, my cancer-story feels like annoying
little shadow that follows me around, invisible to anyone else but me, and
celebrating anything right now would feel fake, forced, hypocritical. It will
happen someday, I hope, but not quite yet.
