I vividly remember celebrating Easter with my brother and sister last year. We did it a week early because I had surgery the following week. We spent quality time with each other and really enjoyed ourselves. But it was awkward because everyone was scared about the future, yet no one wanted to talk about it. It was a very somber mood. Here we are, a year later. We thoroughly enjoyed Easter this year as well, but the mood was much lighter. I've successfully sailed through several major surgeries and six months of chemo. We are traveling downhill from here, friends. Several more radiation treatments, reconstruction, and a full hysterectomy is still in the near future, but the toughest parts are behind me.
My body has gone through a million and one things. Every time I look at a picture now, I relate it to either pre or post-cancer. Pre-cancer photos depict happier, simpler, worry-free times. Post-cancer photos seem pretentious, like there is some sort of a film covering it. Smiling as if everything is normal and okay again, when it truly isn't. Life will never be the same for me and I kind of hate that. I don't want to worry about this beast ever returning, but it's part of what I do now. Worry, stress, panic, freak out. The list is endless. My doctors and I are taking every extreme approach possible to prevent recurrence. But I still need a guarantee, which no one can give me.
By the way, radiation is going pretty well. Twelve down, thirteen more to go. My skin is starting to darken a little from the treatment. I'm crossing my fingers that the burn will be mild.
So, does one celebrate a cancer-versary? And if so, how? Perhaps not celebrate, but give notice to. Should I have a nice dinner? Watch a movie (does Game of Thrones count)? Reflect? Mope around and feel sorry for myself? Be happy that it's been a year and I'm still alive? Be upset that I even have a cancer-versary? Maybe get a tattoo to commemorate. I'm not too sure about what one does in such a situation.
But I do know that March 31 will never be forgotten. It will always be remembered as a Life Altering Day. Just like the birth days of my children and my wedding anniversary. It's a Life Altering Day. But of course not in a celebratory kind of way. Momentous, yes. Celebratory, no. It will be remembered as the stupid day that cancer entered my life. The day that Death briefly visited, but left because he knew it wasn't time.
Thank you all for following my journey with cancer through this blog and supporting me this past year. I am one lucky gal to have so many friends and family that not only celebrated the milestones with me, but also helped me power through the tough times. Lift off the film and smile like you mean it.
