This week marked a milestone—one year since my breast cancer diagnosis. October 26 to be exact. I mused with my brother—who spent New Year’s weekend with me last year following my first chemo treatment—that it really does seem like ages ago. Just like the 2008 election seems like eons ago. Then again, I bet lots of Democrats feel that way 
I remember meeting two girlfriends at their house that first night and, over pizza and cupcakes, convincing myself that there was NO WAY I would ever need chemo. My friend was also the first to bring up the idea of moving home for treatment. Which no one thought would be necessary. And we talked a lot about reconstruction. My car battery died earlier that night and AAA was late getting to me. And I remember thinking I had this “big secret” from the AAA guy. How could he be late getting to my car? Didn’t he know I had CANCER!
I received a calendar with my remaining appointments and treatments for 2010 from my doctors earlier this month and couldn’t believe it. I’m almost done. I’ve graduated, in a sense. I’ve transitioned from seeing the oncologist every three weeks if not more, to going months without a visit. What a change from last year, when I couldn’t believe I was expected to see the doctor every three weeks. That first week after diagnosis was a haze of doctor visits, phone calls and appointments—surgeons, oncologist, blood test, MRI. It was a new world for me and a new language. And the constant phone at my ear—calls to and from family, friends, friends of friends, people wanting to help by connecting me with survivors. The American Cancer Society, NIH’s cancer line, research, patient navigators. Trying to quickly get the lay of the land. To find “the name”, THE DOCTOR. And still working which was a godsend, a link to my old reality. A comfort.
So, how to mark the occasion on the blog? I know some people who go out to dinner, throw a big party for themselves. I went for a manicure with my sister and niece over the weekend but really I wanted it to be like any other day–especially since I’ve been busy with “what’s next” for me with work, planning reconstruction and firming up my resume. I think that celebrations could sort of roll out on the blog over time.
I thought I would start by jotting down rather extemporaneously some memories or phrases that stand out to me as I look back. So much of it is a blur.
I’ve also started to wonder what it means to a be survivor. To be exact, when are you allowed to CALL yourself a survivor? Is there some protocol to follow–like the five-year threshold when you are considered “cured?” I was told that some people call themselves a survivor on the day of their diagnosis. Other people wait until their treatments have ended. That’s good enough for me, though I’m starting to warm to the “thriver” label that I’ve heard others use. So here it is, random thoughts about the last year in no particular order.
Gratitude. For old friends, for nurses and doctors and caretakers and family
Relief
What it means to feel well
Limits
The new people who have come into my life, like my cancer mentors and chemo buddies
Opportunities to talk to people or do things I may not have done otherwise—yoga I’m talking about you
Some things never change
Rekindling old relationships
People can still surprise me and that’s a good thing
Realizing—good or bad–that I still like what I’ve always liked politics, news, pop culture, clothes.
Going to “chemo class” and being asked if I was there to take notes for a parent
The nurse at chemo class who guffawed when I told her my plans to continue working full time through treatment
The nurse who told me shortly after my diagnosis while I was squirming before a needle prick, that “You’re a cancer patient now, get used to it.”
Getting to know my body, its rhythms and responses
That you can’t plan for everything and though it might sound cliché, there are times to let go
While it seemed a HUGE deal at first, losing my hair wasn’t the worst thing ever (in fact, given the summer we had it wasn’t bad at all)
Visits to the doctor. For someone who only went about once a year before getting used to visits every three weeks seemed crazy
