The title of the book should be the motto for cancer. "Everything changes." It's true. Everything does change. Your appearance, your health, your appreciation for life... I know that there's a million quotes about not looking at the past, you're not going that way/you don't live there, but after going through such a rigorous treatment regimen, it's extremely hard not to look at the past. I miss that version of me. The young, vibrant, healthy, naive, happy woman who was finally learning how to love herself. A year ago today, I remember going to the Saddlerack with Teresa to just go out and have a good time. We turned a lot of heads that night, simply because of how happy we looked. We were positively radiant. I absolutely loved my body, so for the first time in my life, I was standing tall, smiling from ear to ear, sending my positive vibes into the world. A common thing for people to tell me is that I'll look back on my cancer experience as something that made me a stronger person, but I already felt like I was pretty strong. Cancer knocked me down at my highest point. And yeah, sure, maybe it's because the universe had more to teach me about loving myself in the face of adversity, but damn it, the universe could've sent me a gentler message.
I lament the loss of the woman I was last summer, and people tell me that I'm still beautiful now. Perhaps even more so now than a year ago because of all of the struggles I've faced, and have persevered. I appreciate those comments, and I know that they come from a good place, but I hate cancer Whitney. I mean, I don't hate her, but I don't particularly love her. I feel fat and puffy, my clothes don't fit, I'm tired all the time because of radiation, I have hot flashes in the middle of the night that make it so I don't sleep well, my eyebrows are growing in at a snail's pace, and now my eyelashes are falling out... it's a never ending cycle. Just when I think more of my old me is returning, something else comes up that puts even more distance between the me now and the me of last summer.
I know that I'm being too hard on myself. I should love this amazing body of mine. This body of mine has conquered so many things over the last 8 months. It's kicked ass through it's first major surgery, which produced clean margins and a smaller tumor, and then kicked even more ass during its second major surgery, producing a good amount of eggs for harvesting (this always makes me feel like I'm talking about Easter egg hunting). It got me through chemotherapy with minimal, and manageable, side effects, and now it's making its way through radiation with flying colors. Today, my radiation oncologist commended my skin for how it's held up over these last 5 weeks.
Last summer, I was so incredibly proud of the work I'd put in toward building muscle, that I would flex at people. Especially when drunk. It was extremely entertaining. This summer, I'm freely showing people the scars on my breast. So, yeah, everything definitely changes.
While I'm still mourning the loss of the woman I was a year ago, I'm grateful for that time I spent getting to know myself better. I learned a lot valuable lessons in between May and November of last year. It's given me a glimpse of the person that I want to become, and helping me realize that it's an attainable goal. So, I may not love this current version of me as much as I should, but she's someone I have to accept and love on the journey to being the me I want to be. The beauty of life is that if you don't like where you are, you have the power to change it. I plan on doing just that. But, you know, after my armpit stops peeling and I get the clearance from my doctors.
Below are some pictures of pre-cancer me. I know that I'll see her again, just a stronger, braver version. It's just going to take some time.
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