Bittersweet

One of the most common things you hear after cancer treatment is people trying to find their "new normal". It's a kick in the ass, really. I remember all through chemo I was desperately wishing for things to go back to normal, but only with the vague realization that the normal I was imagining was no longer going to be within my grasp. My old life that I had cultivated was out of reach. But here I am, two years later, after thinking my life was perfect. I'm standing. I'm breathing. I would argue that I'm the happiest and most content and most comfortable I've ever been. I see beauty in the small things, like waking up to the sun shining and feeling the warm air on my skin. And it's not that I didn't see or appreciate those things before, it's that now they carry new meaning. Each and every day I'm grateful to be alive. And even if I'm having a bad day, I know that tomorrow is a chance to start over. Occasionally struggling is part of the process of life, and that in itself holds beauty.

But then the reality of what my "new normal" is sets in, and I remember that some things can't, or won't, come as easy as they used to. Such as..

I'm finalizing my trip to Costa Rica in September, and it dawned on me the other day that I should contact my oncologist to make sure all of my vaccinations were up to date and make sure it's safe for me to travel out of the country. So, cue me sending off an email to good ol' Dr. Shek, following his instructions, and setting up an appointment with a travel nurse to make sure my vaccinations are up to date (dear god, I really hope they are. Nearly two years closely associated with needles has not gotten me over my grave fear and dislike of them).

I've been having this pretty significant chest pain for almost four months. After a month of it persisting, I finally conceded to seeing my oncologist. We agreed on a chest X-ray, me taking Prilosec, and an EKG. It wasn't until the results came back clear that we discussed a CT scan. My doctor has been adamant that my screenings won't include scans because he doesn't want to expose me to any more radiation. So for him to suggest the CT scan, I knew where he was headed, but I didn't believe it until the words came out of his mouth. "We have to rule out the possibility of recurrence." And my thought was, "Holy fuck. What if it's back? What if they didn't get it all the first time? What if I have to go through this all over again even though it just ended?" What if, what if, what if... I went to the hospital the next day for the scan, and of course I had to go to the same department where I went for my lumpectomy. Anxiety and fear set in as I waited. I tried to stay calm, but that rarely works when it comes to me and hospitals. I got an IV put in, and then the CT was relatively quick and painless. The results came in the next day - everything looked normal. No recurrence. No heart abnormality. Just some scar tissue buildup. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. But only for a moment. Because it's still happening. I've now seen my general practitioner, and she doesn't believe anything is wrong - just scar tissue breaking down, and inflammation from my workouts. I'm not convinced, so I'm keeping a close eye on it.

My memory isn't what it used to be. Now, I know that people say as you get older, your memory doesn't hold up to the test of time. But, let's be realistic here, I'm only 28 (at least for three more weeks). I shouldn't be struggling to remember simple things, like a conversation I had two days before. Or a word that I've used in everyday jargon for years, but suddenly forgetting what that word was. I can't tell you how many conversations I've just given up on because I've gotten so frustrated at myself for not being able to spit out a simple sentence. Luckily, this has improved since chemo has ended, but it still happens occasionally.

I'm more fatigued than I used to be. I'm always tired since I pretty much don't sleep, but it's a general lingering exhaustion that holds steady through most days. It's incredibly frustrating, because when I actually attempt to sleep, I don't. This one, I can't entirely blame on after effects of chemo, because the poor sleep has been an ongoing issue for years.

I know that healing and recovery aren't linear. There are going to be highs and lows, and I'm doing my best to accept that and deal with each new issue as it comes. At least it's making life a little more interesting....