Time Heals

It is hard to believe that it's been six months since my first clean scan. But when I consider the emotional and physical healing that has occurred, it seems like it should be longer.

The first three months were cake. Not realizing how tired I had been throughout treatment, I was full of energy. I started running and skiing, driven by a desire to be active and regain some level of fitness and strength. We hosted Thanksgiving, celebrated Van's first Christmas at home and ushered in 2011 with friends and music, drinking in all the promise of a new year.

In January, I had my first round of follow up blood tests. This was difficult mentally. I realized that these tests don't definitively say I do or do not have cancer. My doctor reads various counts and levels, synthesizes the data, asks if I feel OK, and then says everything looks good. I found it hard to accept what was on the surface without looking for the iceberg underneath. The tumor marker, a test for the CEA protein, went up a bit. Still in the normal range, but is the fact that it went up normal? What would make it go up? How much of a change is normal? When do we question it and do something more?

Shortly after, I started having some abdominal cramping. The old-me said ignore it, as it was more of an annoyance than pain. The new-me knows that ignoring symptoms can get you into trouble. Still, I was questioning myself, questioning if it was really something or nothing. For several days I was silently panicking, and then after a not-so silent freak out with my favorite surgeon, I went in for a follow up exam. Afterwards, he said that it didn't look good, it looked fucking perfect. He actually said 'fucking', with a smile. Aside from being pleased to assuage my concerns, he seemed pretty proud of his handiwork.

The cramping eventually turned out to be the usual monthly thing, which was a big surprise as the radiation a year before was expected and thought to have brought on early menopause. It was a well-timed reminder that the body is an amazing thing, capable of more than even our doctors know, and that with time comes healing. I also learned in those few weeks that there's a very big difference in living with cancer and living through cancer. During treatment, I could point to specific things I was doing - proactive and reactive, physically and mentally - to pursue a cure and conquer cancer. On the other side of remission however, there's just monitoring, and that is just so, well...passive. Like too much caffeine, passivity makes me anxious and fidgety, and I have had to learn to manage that.

I've landed on it feeling a bit like being in a row boat. You're exposed to the elements, and sometimes a wave or gust can toss you around and push you off course. But you find your balance, take hold of the oars and course correct your direction when needed. And as you keep rowing, you need to remember to tilt your face to the sun and enjoy the view.

Mid April I had a 6-month PET scan, colonoscopy and series of blood tests. I would like to think that my new approach made this round of tests much easier to deal with mentally, and it did - but the clean results didn't hurt either.