It always begins the same way: the prick of a needle, the scent of latex gloves, and the vivid red blood flowing from my arm into those sterile plastic tubes. This blood will be sent off for analysis, and soon, the results will be uploaded to my medical file. My oncologist will then read the report, determining whether cancer has returned to invade my life once more.
This routine occurs every six months. Each time, I feel like a sailboat stranded in a windless sea—adrift, waves crashing against me, with no land in sight.
Admitting how challenging these checkups are for me is somewhat embarrassing. In many respects, I feel I’ve made significant progress since my diagnosis two years ago. I feel stronger, braver, more attuned to the present moment, and even my hair is growing back (I recently used a hair dryer for the first time!). Yet, paradoxically, I also feel more vulnerable than ever. I am acutely aware that we are all just a heartbeat away from our lives being turned upside down.
As my appointments approach, worries cloud my mind, overshadowing the positivity I’ve cultivated. I wrestle with fear, but the what-ifs seem all too real. I carry the weight of my cancer experience—the true agony of chemotherapy still lingers in my memory. I can recall the tears rolling down my cheeks as my children asked, “Why can’t Mommy come too?” It wasn’t long ago, and those memories replay in my mind like a never-ending loop of dread.
What if my cancer is back? What if my cancer is back? An incessant chant that drains my joy and light.
Anxiety can be overwhelming. Fear can be paralyzing. It’s a ridiculous waste of energy to fret over something that might never happen. I understand this intellectually; I preach it to others. Yet, as I sit in the waiting room, hand in hand with my husband, surrounded by others who are suffering, my worries intensify. My knee bounces nervously as I wonder why my doctor is taking so long. Are they reviewing my results? Is it so serious that they need to prepare themselves before calling me in?
It sounds irrational, and I don’t enjoy admitting it, but it’s the truth.
To clarify, these dark thoughts don’t consume me all the time. I would say I am about 90% free from such paralyzing anxiety. However, when it does strike, I feel small and helpless. My oncologist and nurse practitioner suggested that I might be experiencing some PTSD from my journey and encouraged me to see a counselor for coping strategies. I plan to make that call, although the thought of returning to that place—the one whose scent makes my stomach churn—is daunting.
“Your blood work is perfect. You can breathe,” the nurse practitioner reassures me, holding my hand as she hands me the counselor’s information. I take a deep breath, letting the relief wash over me. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. I close my eyes and whisper a silent prayer for those in the next room, down the hall, or even at another hospital—those who are receiving the news we all fear: “It looks like your cancer is back.” I pray for them and for everyone who is waiting or suffering due to cancer.
But for now, I’m okay. And I’m grateful.
It might seem like a stretch, but I can’t help but compare my cancer journey to a home renovation. Sometimes, life deals you a tough hand:
Life throws unexpected challenges your way. Eventually, you find yourself in a state of disarray.
However, through the chaos and upheaval, you can emerge from the rubble feeling renewed and transformed. Even when everything seems to be in disarray (like eating cereal from paper bowls and drinking coffee from dusty mugs), the sun rises, seasons change, and you find moments of joy—like watching your partner prepare a holiday feast. You feel blessed, grateful, and okay.
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Summary
The journey after battling cancer is fraught with challenges, particularly during checkups that can trigger overwhelming anxiety. While the fear of recurrence looms large, it’s essential to find ways to manage these feelings and appreciate the present. Through the support of healthcare professionals and a commitment to healing, it is possible to reclaim one’s peace and joy.