Survivor

If only I were referring to that TV show.

Early on in my treatment I went to a support group at the cancer center. It’s a spiritual support group designed to help women effected by cancer release some of the strong feelings that accompany this illness. You can cry, shout, sing, kvetch, do pretty much anything within reason to express whatever you need to.

The first time I went I was really surprised to discover that women who had been healthy for over a year were still attending the group. There I was, bald, nauseous, and pissed that I had to go through cancer. Right in the thick of my treatment, I sat next to these women and listened to their stories.

Honestly, I couldn’t relate. From where I was sitting, they had what I most wanted: hair. They also had a clean bill of health. And yet, they were having trouble adjusting. Trouble dealing with the residual feelings cancer left them with when it vacated their bodies.

The thing I heard the most was anger, followed by confusion. The kind you feel when you wake up from having napped too long on a summer afternoon. You look at the clock and it says 6:30, and you panic, thinking you’re late for work. It takes a couple minutes to sink in that evening has come, and you didn’t get the notice.

Not having cancer is a little like that. You know you’re well; your cells are working, humming like bees, and yet, there is worry, because an essential part of you didn’t get the memo that you’re cancer free. In other words, in spite of the fact that I look healthy, I don't feel it. I  still feel very much like I'm recovering from something big. Like my mind is just now sorting out all details of what my body has been through this past year.

In playing catch up, I wonder: How long will I live? That question is the scary one. Recently, I was talking with a woman, maybe 75 years old, maybe older, I’m not sure. She was old though. I could tell she was old because her hands were gnarled with bulbous knuckles. Looking at her hands, I felt a sadness wash over me. Followed immediately by an acute jealousy, she had something I might not get: a long life. Then, I felt sad again. There are no guarantees in this life for any of us, but, having been though cancer, I feel acutely aware of this fact, and it scares me sometimes.

Beyond the worry and possibility of a shorted lifespan there are other unknowns, specifically about my body: What is this body now? How does it feel? What does it need the most?

My body is very different than it was a year ago. There are scars. Too many, I think. Parts are missing, big parts. Important parts. I’m heavier to. Medications that cured me also made me gain weight, kind of a lot of it. On top of that, I ate whatever I wanted. When you’re in treatment for cancer, and feel so shitty, sometimes simple things, like a chocolate croissant and a nap, are the best part of your day. So I have curves now, the first one’s ever.

Also, what can my body do now? There are risks, since lymph nodes have been removed. I could contract swelling in my arm that will never go away. At first I thought about that every day. Now, it hardly comes up, but later in the fall when approximately 3.5 million leaves drop from the trees and onto my lawn, I can rake only for a little while at a time. Because, I like my arm the way it is now.

Raking in short stints isn’t so bad, not something that really hits home. Menopause though? That hits right where it hurts. Did I mention am 41 years old? The old ladies weren’t kidding about hot flashes. Those suck. Cuddling is challenging at times because of them. My body runs hot, and having a little critter on my lap, makes me break out in a sweat. There are other fun and exciting things that happen to the female body during menopause. I will spare you the details and just say, between that and the anti-cancer drugs I take, it will be a miracle if I have any bones left by the time I’m 65.

The chemo induced neuropathy is still with me as well. Its mild, but it’s still kicking around. I am still healing from the chemo, its clear. The damage from those drugs was system-wide, but slowly, I’m healing. I can tell when I peddle my bike as hard and as fast as I can. I feel energized, joyful even, because I can move fast. I can tell when I’m dancing with Bryan, the Rumba never felt so good. The foxtrot on the other hand, is a brutal dance. Either way though, I’m electric and excited at joining the human race again.

I know that it has to be at my pace. I have to meet myself where I’m at. I do what I can to listen to my body. Push myself, just a little, to get my body moving. Nourish when needed and sleep when tired. Hugs are good to, the best actually.

Knowing all this, I’m taking my cancer-free self, back to the support group. I’m going to sit there, with my head full of hair, and kvetch, complain and most likely cry some. I’ll keep going to the group to, until that deep down part of me finally gets the cancer-free memo.

Until I know what healthy means for me as my body is now, after having been on this long journey.