I know a fellow writer and breast cancer survivor who recently posted about her “cancer-adversary,” her anniversary of diagnosis, on Facebook recently. One of the things she noted is that, three years post-diagnosis and two years post-treatment, she’s come to a point that she doesn't think about cancer every day.
I was diagnosed the year before she was. I’m not there yet.
I do think about cancer every day. I don’t brood upon it. I’m not super depressed about it. I’m not paralyzed by fear. I think the science of cancer is fascinating. Obviously, as a reporter, I interview people about cancer all the time. I accept my cancer. What choice do I have? But I think about it. Every day. Without fail.
Sometimes it’s in the shower. The left breast that’s been reduced by lumpectomy is full of scar tissue and still kind of sore if you touch it the wrong way.
Sometimes it’s when I kiss my husband. We have a good marriage; we are soul mates. But there is no way around the fact that the drugs I take tamp down my romantic urges. A lot. He’s very patient, but still. So, I think about it.
Or it might be when I realize that a party dress that used to look great on me no longer fits. Is the extra weight the result of cancer or of the premature menopause caused by the drugs I take to prevent a recurrence? I don’t know. But it makes me think about it.
And sometimes, it’s when I look at my 13-year-old daughter and think about how she’s so beautiful and growing up so quickly. I don’t mean to be really melodramatic, but I am very aware that there are no guarantees in life, and especially not in cancer. So will I be there to see her get married? Will I get to spoil my grand kids and be the crazy old lady who wears purple and skis and rides motorcycles and bakes too many cakes? I hope so. But when I think about those future dreams, I always think about cancer. Always.
I don’t expect that there will ever be a day for the rest my life that I don’t think about cancer. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing. It just is. It is my new normal.
I wonder if people who suffer other harrowing life events—divorce, bankruptcy, the death of a child, other illnesses like heart attacks, car accidents—feel the same quiet presence of their personal disaster each day. I suspect that most of them do, whether they talk about it or not. What do you think?
Source:www.webmd.com
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