A few months after I was finished with active treatment, and
my hair was finally long enough to go out without a cap or a wig, I made a
comment to my therapist that the Hope that went through cancer was starting to
feel like a different person. That she wasn’t
really me. My therapist told me that feeling was a common one, and that part of my healing meant I had to work
to integrate that person into who I was before and who I was becoming after,
and that wholeness would mean that I had successfully moved on.
So I worked on that.
And I finally reached a point where I could look at pictures, or relive
events in my mind, and know the woman in them was me. The girl wearing the $2000
wig and feeling like some alien anchor woman, sweating and itching and dying to
rip it off – that was me. The girl in
the chemo chair, watching the Today Show and seeing the world go on without me
because I was too sick to play – that was me.
That strong, strong woman who let go of the man she loved because he
thought that a quick text or call every night before he hit the bars with his
friends was being supportive – that was me, as was the woman who grieved the
ending of that relationship for far too long, blaming cancer instead of realizing
that she needed to be more careful about choosing men who are worthy of her
love.
So yes, I have integrated my experience, and I tell fellow
survivors who are following me in the journey that they will too. But every now and again, when I least expect
it, that feeling of disbelief still hits me.
Drying my lovely long hair – OMG I had cancer. Seeing Matt Lauer on TV – OMG I had
cancer. Realizing that it’s time to let
a worthy man into my life – Holy crap!!!
I had cancer!!!! My breath stops
for a minute, my heart races and I panic.
And then I remember that I survived and that I am here today
to do work that I love – helping other survivors move forward. And I realize that the fact that every so
often I am blinded by a sudden realization that I had cancer means that I no
longer think about it every day, every minute.
And the feeling that follows is pride, wonderment and joy.
I would never wish you cancer, or any health issue, but I do
wish you all as much joy this holiday season as your hearts can hold. And then a smidge more.
