Now What

On Wednesday April 19th I received the best news in the last 9 months: CLEAN SCANS! No evidence of disease. My totally horrible, invasive surgery and recovery were worth it. I’ve never seen my doctor looks so happy. I choked back tears as he gave me the results and then spent most of the day in tears. I was so nervous going in for this appointment. I was terrified of more chemo or another surgery.  After the elation my fears have risen back up. My scans might not be clear in another 3 months, 6 months, 5 years or 10 years, but I can not dwell on that. I think this is why my surgeon told me to live my life and not think about the cancer diagnosis.

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And live my life is what I plan to do. It started with drinking champagne four, no five, days in a row. It started with a giant sigh of relief. I got together with friends. I took my parents to dinner as a thank you for something I will never truly be able to thank them for. I joined a friend for her son’s soccer game. I walked around the entirety of my park for the first time since fall. I’m going to Door County with my friends even though I won’t be running the half marathon. I’m going to Madison. I’m finally going to Italy, after two cancelled trips, to visit my brother, sister-in-law and baby niece. I’m going to Portland for a wedding. I’m going to enjoy my summer. There will be grilling, kayaking, swimming, fires and even baseball games.

There are not enough words to express my gratitude to everyone who has supported me through this: friends, family, internet friends, high school and college friends I hadn’t spoken to in years, friends of friends. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

A difficult reality

It’s truth time. It’s easy to write posts about the good things and the progress I’m making. It’s fun to write about having fun with friends. It’s also only a small fraction of my time. I still spend a lot of time on my couch. I spend a lot of time wondering what the hell happened to my life? I used to be busy all the time. By choice. I filled my life with friends and family and exercise and travel. I miss all of this.

As most of you know I’m an independent person. Often stubborn as well. My doctor called me fiercely independent which I really think meant stubborn pain in the ass. This translates to me wanting to be able to do everything for myself, but I can’t. I literally cannot do it all. I end up curled up in a ball upset about it. People keep offering to help, but I don’t know what to tell someone. I’m never going to be the person to ask for help. I don’t even ask my parents for help until I’m so upset I call my mom in tears over laundry or dinner or one of my cats annoying me.

I don’t want to be at work. I really thought I would want to be back. I mean, it’s great to see everyone and use my brain, but I don’t want to be there. This isn’t the normal I don’t want to go to work. This isn’t I hate my job and I don’t want to go. It’s something different that I can’t exactly pinpoint. I guess I can ask for help sometimes. I’m not driving myself to and from work, my parents are. I waste so much energy driving myself, it’s not worth it. I wish I didn’t have to work. Or didn’t have to work full-time. But I like my house and my car and eating.

I still have a terrible relationship with food. I hate that more than anything. I used to love food. I tolerate food now. I’m still not able to eat a normal amount. I’m still underweight. I still don’t want to eat half the time. I miss being able to eat like a normal person. It is improving, just not very quickly.

I miss running. This isn’t something I have been missing the whole time, but it’s spring and people are racing and I want that feeling. I legitimately miss running for two hours. Instead I’m walking. Not far. Just walking. I got excited Saturday when it was nice out and I went for my longest walk yet, but then later got upset over how stupid short it was and the fact that I got excited about it.

I don’t write this all just to whine and bitch. This is the reality of what I a going through. I never wanted to believe the doctor when he said it could take 3-6 months to get back to my “normal” life. I’m not at three months yet. I’m trying to be patient, but I’m not.

TL:DR What the hell happened to my life? I’m making progress but I’m impatient.