During one of my many medical consultations, my oncologist assured me that there would come a time when I would look back on my cancer journey as a distant memory. I chuckled—a bittersweet, sarcastic laugh—thinking it was an impossible proposition.
As time goes on, I find it easier to envision that reality. There are moments when I momentarily forget the profound sadness that enveloped me. Did I truly experience such depths of despair? Was it genuinely that challenging to take a breath? Yes, it was.
My Scars
My scars serve as constant reminders. Five incisions succinctly narrate my journey. The small cut beneath my left collarbone, the port scar, which was the entry point for chemotherapy, lay there for 361 days, embedded just beneath the surface. Then, there are the two crescent-shaped scars under the curves of my absent breasts and two additional small lines beneath each armpit, remnants of the drain tubes from my surgery. Five scars.
Vivid Memories
I have days when the memories resurface vividly. The dread of doctor’s appointments looms large. I even found myself canceling my children’s dentist visits, overwhelmed by a newly developed aversion to waiting rooms. Every three months, I return to the cancer center for a shot that suppresses my ovaries. My heart races, my stomach twists, and I feel a sharp pang of anxiety. There’s the daily pill I must take to block estrogen, the nights I wake up drenched in sweat, longing for the time when my body felt entirely mine. Yes, there are days when I remember.
Ordinary Days
Yet, there are also days when I forget I am a cancer survivor. I navigate through mundane tasks, pushing shopping carts at Target, sipping my coffee, and grappling with the frustrations of traffic jams and lengthy meetings. Some days, I find myself becoming irritable with my children, annoyed by the scattered Legos on the floor, distressed by the eternal search for matching socks, and bewildered by the laundry that seems to multiply overnight. Yes, there are days when I forget.
Then, a wave of realization washes over me. I remember how fervently I prayed for days like these. I longed for this ordinary yet extraordinary life.
Simple Joys
Occasionally, I feel a chill, brought on by the simple joys—a whiff of coconut shampoo in my 7-year-old’s hair as I read him a story, the gentle clasp of my 4-year-old’s hand while crossing the street, the soothing sound of rain against the window, or catching a glimpse of my husband peacefully asleep, bathed in moonlight. I am here. I am still here.
And I come to understand that I do not want to forget. I do not wish to distance myself from my five scars or the memories of my profound sorrow. I have sunk deep into the earth and soared high into the clouds.
A Special Moment
Recently, my son, Ethan, showcased a piece of artwork at a local art exhibit. As he enthusiastically pointed out the intricacies of his creation, my heart swelled with emotion. What if I had missed this moment? We celebrated with ice cream, gazing up at the sky and admiring the clouds. This ordinary, extraordinary life felt nothing short of heaven.
Conclusion
In conclusion, it is essential to acknowledge the journey of healing and the importance of cherishing every moment, as they contribute to a life well-lived. For anyone exploring the path of home insemination, resources such as this blog post can provide valuable insights. Additionally, Make A Mom is a reliable authority on this topic, while March of Dimes offers excellent support for those considering fertility treatments.