My cancer center has asked me to participate in various things in order to spread awareness and hope in the world of breast cancer. The latest was a photo shoot. I’m normally the one taking pictures and have not been on the other side of a camera for a photo shoot since I was in my late teens and early 20’s when I modeled. I am on the other side of the camera now.
I’m on the other side of cancer and chemotherapy. When I was first diagnosed, I could not picture this past summer and what life would be like. All I could picture was needles and medications and chemotherapy while freezing and being bald. I still have a hard time realizing that I am done with chemo as I still tend to view life from Wednesday to Wednesday.
I hold on to my chemo bags of drugs. One is full of medications and the other full of creams and things. Why do I do that? What am I still afraid of? I no longer need the medications to combat chemotherapy nausea nor pain medications from the multiple surgeries. I never even opened those. I don’t need them as reminders of the journey I have been on. My scars and hair tell that tale upon each passing of a mirror. As this year comes to a close, I should purge my life of those things I no longer need. Clearly, they do not bring me any kind of joy but they’re not a painful nor awful reminder of cancer. Perhaps they are just a security blanket. I’ve held onto them, just in case the need popped up…but it didn’t…and it won’t…so I need to let go…and that’s really hard.
I have a chemo binder of folders and let me tell ya, that thing is jam packed with information. Information I don’t really need anymore. I don’t need the booklets on the various chemotherapy drugs, steroids and antihistamines I was on. I know that shit by heart. I lived it. So why hold on to it? Sometimes I will read a question by another pink sister asking about if a side effect she is experiencing is normal and I’ll go back and reference it before answering. I was fortunate to have not experienced as many issues as other women have and do. I hold on to those to hopefully continue helping other women.
I hold on to my tattered and worn pink blanket that I took to the hospital when I had my surgery. Some say breast cancer is not pink and pretty and sunshine. It’s not. Pink can be vibrant and full of life and bring a smile here and there. My blanket is bright pink. It doesn’t remind me of being in the hospital or losing my breasts to cancer. It’s soft, snuggly and full of life, hopefully like me! I hold onto it because it makes me smile, it’s warm and bought me comfort.
I have my little grey throw that was given to me by the volunteers at the cancer center at my first chemotherapy session. It’s a little misshapen and worn but I love it. It kept me warm during each chemo session. It did it’s job. My body did it’s job too. That grey is now a part of me, and I’m a little worn and misshapen now too.
I still have my wigs, all of them. I need to find new heads for them to reside on. I will hold on to my pink one from The Pink Wig Project as well as the one I got from a wig shop through my insurance. The blonde ones and the green one can hopefully help someone else now.
Letting go of the cancer past is hard, if not almost impossible. What does it really mean to be on the other side? Being on the other side means chemotherapy and surgeries have stopped and life suddenly returns to something that resembles normal. It’s exhilarating and frightening at the same time. Freedom from spending hours at the local cancer center every week yields lots of extra time. That freedom comes with a slight price though. “You should be thrilled you’re all done.” Do not say that to a cancer patient. Please. We are happy to be done with chemotherapy but there’s an uncertainty that we have as well now. We go from appointment to appointment to see how we are healing or recovering from the chemical shit storm meant to save our lives. Various doctors check us for lingering side effects and how our blood levels are doing. Some of us wind up with intermittent scans of various sorts. There’s a heaviness to these appointments. They’re not fun, they’re gut wrenching as there’s always a tiny fear (sometimes not so tiny) that something will pop up again. There’s a hesitant happiness, a cautiously optimistic feeling, but there’s a tiny dose of reality that bitch slaps us in the face every single time we meet with one of the oncologists on our teams. I have my specialists spaced around 6 weeks apart, which isn’t so frightening. It’s when it gets spaced months apart that I may have anxiety.
It’s almost a year out from my diagnosis. I am on the other side of chemotherapy. Happy isn’t quite the feeling, more like somewhat relieved but somewhat miss it. Miss chemo? Yep. It was an active battle that gave my mind some peace. I keep reminding myself we chose a rough protocol to give me the best chance at survival and remission. I am still in the Herceptin and Perjeta mode every three weeks until the middle of January 2020. That gives me comfort.
I’m physically weaker, for now, but mentally stronger than where I was at this time last year. I have escaped my comfort zone and find myself very relaxed and so much more confident. Doing the photoshoot with the hospital was symbolic for me. I had someone else behind the camera telling my where to stand and such. I was asked to show victory and strength in a pose, gratitude in another. Those were honest emotions. A year ago, the thought of my face and story being placed in a highly public area would have had me running in the opposite direction. I’ve let go of what life was like before cancer. I own who I am and what I have been through. I owe it to other women to get my story out there and do everything within my reach to help. I’m truly on the other side of my life now…and cancer is what got me there.
Comments