Year One

I just received flowers celebrating the one-year anniversary of being cancer-free. Thank you.

It has been a long, crazy year. Of course, I was still having radiation and more surgeries until May, so it hasn't all been a vacation. Looking back at my experience of the year, it hasn't been a smooth recovery either physically or emotionally. But, adjusting to - ahem - a mortality concern feels a lot like learning any other new skill or way of thinking. At first it was overwhelming, and everything I did I perceived through that filter. Then it was frustrating. I couldn't escape, and I still had (have) residual physical pain. Now I am working at integrating my new experiences with what came before. By the way, I can tell you from insider experience that those people who say their lives completely change after cancer and nothing from the past matters? They must have better drugs than me because in my experience, the things from the past just get colored by the new reality, not erased. (If you find out what those drugs are, please ship a box to my address. Next day air.)

The most positive part of this year has been the huge changes in my family dynamic, particularly around cancer. My siblings and cousins are being tested for the gene that made me so vulnerable to cancer, making sure that my generation won't get sucker-punched again. This has already paid huge dividends. My mom is recovering from a double mastectomy to remove a very early stage cancer, one that would have been found in a few years - and have been much more advanced - under normal screening procedures. My cancer was the size of a lime, hers the size of a grain of rice. She needs no chemo, no radiation, and we never have to worry again about her dying of breast cancer.

I've noticed that many people with cancer struggle with the purpose of it. Is it punishment? A test? A lesson? A trial? Lots of people look to a divinity, or to the universe, for answers. But I already see the payoff of my experience in my mom's diagnosis and my relatives' testing and screening. I can't have children, but I have given something precious to the next generation: knowledge. My mom will see her grandchildren grow up, and they will get her love and presence as part of the bedrock of their world. Caty, Jim, my cousins, they all will know for certain whether they have the mutation and will get access to the screening and prevention they need to protect themselves. More than this, though, we talk to each other a lot. We call, and message, and email, and send pictures, and generally stay in touch. We're not just related, we're family.

On the more negative side, though, I'm still feeling a stew of uncertainty, physical pain, emotional exhaustion, and a dollop of regret. As my horizon creeps forward, I must make choices and plans but all of my prior bases for decision have been blown away. In some ways, I have already done the most important thing I will ever do - I protected my friends and loved ones by being an example. What do I do now?

I suppose that is a question for year two.
Thank you again for everything. I couldn't be here without you.