A little over three months ago I was recovering from 6 months of chemo and a double mastectomy. Tonight I went off a high dive and watched the sun set.
When you are in the middle of the tunnel, you might see the light, but it is hard to remember what it feels like to be in it. And now that I am out of that tunnel, I see the darkness, but it is hard to remember what it felt like to be in it. Life is so crazy this way.
My white blood cell counts are going up. They are not yet “normal”, but they are on the rise. And my energy is bubbling back to the surface like a fancy glass of champagne. I can wake up early, help get the kids ready for school, work a full day with my at-risk students, pick the kids up, make dinner, give the boys baths, read them books, and still have energy to go on a walk and do my physical therapy stretches. I would be deceiving if I didn’t mention Joel’s help with all of that. And I don’t want you to think that any of this is done gracefully. The beginning of the school year is always kind of a cluster and my parenting techniques have been a bit questionable. But man, it feels good to back into the routine. If it weren’t for this stupid port and my herceptin infusions, shots of lupron, meetings with my oncologist and surgeon, heart echoes, and the beginning stages of menopause — I’d hardly know I just had breast cancer. (That’s not sarcasm).
People keep asking me if I will keep blogging. Can you keep a cancer blog, when you no longer have cancer? I’m touched when you tell me that you still want to hear what I have to say. I always wanted to have a blog. Those who know me best know how much I love to write. They also know I never really consider myself a “real” writer. I never started a blog pre-cancer because I didn’t think I had anything important to say. Cancer did give me this gift. Those first weeks of diagnosis when anything was possible I remember thinking: “I have nothing to lose. I’m just going to say it all.” And I did. And I think I still will. Because every time I sit down to write, it feels like I am sitting down to have coffee with myself. And every time I share it with you, it feels like you are listening.
And that feels like being up on that high dive. Like taking a leap and knowing I’m going to be okay.