The Winding Road To Recovery

I recently completed a 2,300 mile journey. My goal was to see loved ones, revisit familiar places, and enjoy the magnificent scenery of this country. I reached all objectives, yay!

It was not without some headaches (cough, cough, HERTZ, cough) and more than once tears blurred my vision as I pondered my life’s stages and events.

Watching young moms in the park reminded me of my days of bringing my kids there. And even prior to having my own kids, I was a day camp counselor in the same park back in college days. I recalled the many city band concerts we attended as a family. Trips to the pool. My life as a wife and homeschool mom and devout churchgoer.

My oh my. How things have changed.

Now I’m divorced, an empty nester, and haven’t been a regular churchgoer in years.

But yet I know those years are still there. The roles I’ve played, present and accounted for. Happy memories, sorrowful ones, check, check, check!

It’s different now. But the same too.

I am now almost six weeks PFC-that’s post final chemo in the cancer community. The big road trip I took is not unlike the road to cancer recovery. Or should I say recovery from cancer treatment recovery?

Cancer has left its mark on me, both physically and emotionally, but the essence of who I am is still there.

Here’s something I find funny. When people hear my story, they will say some variation of this, “I don’t know how you did this. I couldn’t do it.” Then there are “you are brave” comments.

Of all the changes cancer has forged in me, let me be clear that bravery did not materialize out of the ethers. Nor do I feel strong.

A cancer diagnosis triggers an existential crisis. Am I going to die from this? What do I need to do to continue living?

It’s the first part of this crazy journey. Then I got through the surgery and chemo. Finally, my oncologist called me a survivor and congratulated me.

Now it’s time for the recovery part of the journey. I’m still dealing with aches and pains from chemo. (Getting blood work this morning to make sure my electrolytes are all present and accounted for.) It’s still distressing to have my hair shedding. Other than that, I feel great.

Emotions are another story. Processing all the trauma inflicted on my body will take some time and a skilled therapist. Acknowledging the fear of recurrence will no doubt be part of my new emotional landscape as well. Reading about Olivia Newton-John’s 30-year dance with breast cancer and recent death underscores the tendency.

There’s an instant comparison that happens whenever I hear of someone else with a history of breast cancer. What stage were you? How many years out are you? You doing good now?

Really, what I’m asking is, can I survive like you? Will I be around for another 30 years? Cue to quick math calculations. Hmmmmm. Let’s see, I’m 58 now. Cancer was a slow growing bastard that probably started 9 years ago, so if it returned, I can make it to 67. Okay, I’m good with that.

I am a gold medalist in the Drive Yourself Nuts event.

The thought of more medical visits is a huge trigger for me, too. It was before cancer, but now it’s even worse. Like going in for this blood test this morning. I feel terrified. I know in my head it’s just to check electrolytes and that all will be just fine. Or will it? If this was a movie, the music just switched to a dark, brooding key of fear minor.

Welcome to a glimpse into my frightened brain.

On my road trip, I discovered the stoopid windshield wipers were shit when I drove through some drizzle. (I’m looking at you again, Hertz.) It made visibility blurry and smudgy. I had to pull over a time or two to scrub down the windshield.

This is what fear does to perspective. It amps up anxiety and blurs your vision.

I wish dealing with it was as simple as getting a new pair of emotional windshield wipers. How lovely would that be? Just swap out the old ones, no muss, no fuss. No therapy. No insomnia. Vision is unmarred by fear. Bam! All better!

One can dream right? But for right now, gotta get over to the lab. If you’re the praying type, I invite you to pray for me.

Thanks for reading! If so inclined, consider buying her a coffee.