On Tuesday, 1/21/2014, I quietly celebrated the 5th
anniversary of my remission.
Those five years have held joy and pain, as years tend to
do.
The first years were oddly difficult. Simmering family and
personal issues, which had been back-burnered specifically because of my cancer,
exploded. We’re still picking up the pieces, but at least we’re picking them up.
I went back to school and earned a college degree. (Bucket
List Win!) I found my dream job, only to lose it along with my hard won
self-confidence. I found another job—not as high-paying—but definitely rewarding and
important in its own way; and I’ve found an acceptance there which I enjoy
immensely.
I watched my son and daughter become adults, and I cheered
as they each graduated from high school. One is in college, the other has
chosen a military path, and I am incredibly proud of them both.
I lost a few friends.
I lost a few pounds.
I gained… more.
I lost my beloved greyhound Simon.
He can never be replaced.
I gained two cats.
They are quirky and weird and make me
smile.
I published a few books.
I wrote a few more, which I hope to publish soon.
I developed a few health problems that are generally
attributed to the radiation. But hey, small potatoes compared to the
alternative.
I never found romance.
Who knows what tomorrow might
bring?
Every summer, I have participated in the American Cancer
Society’s Relay For Life in my community. I do it because I can, in memory of
those who can’t, and in support of those who are still fighting or who will
have to fight.
In some ways, I hope I’ve become a better person in the
aftermath of cancer.
In other ways, I think I’ve become a worse person.
But for both better and worse, I have had five years to become. Maybe I’ll have five more. Or
ten. Or twenty. I would enjoy the opportunity, but no matter what the future holds, I have
survived for five years post-diagnosis.
And I am incredibly grateful for that.
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| The Author and Offspring - 2013 |
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