The One Year Mark

This week marks the one year anniversary of my chemotherapy break. I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on the past year-so much of it was dedicated to recovery. It took a solid four to five months for my fractured ribs to heal and over eight months for the tissue on my hands and feet to begin to mend. That does not account for the lingering fatigue or the slow, slow process of rebuilding muscle and strength. Physically, I am not anywhere near where I thought I would be.

Of course, the physical challenges are only part of the whole. The emotional and mental toll of chemotherapy resurfaces in ways I never expected. The PTSD is very real. Sometimes, when I lay down in my bed, I can still feel the nausea, gross, “icky” feeling I experienced the first few days of a chemotherapy round. Blood draws make me anxious because walking into the cancer center brings back memories I wish I did not have. And then, there is the looming fear of recurrence-the possibility of having to endure it all again. The thought of having to go back on chemotherapy or undergo another surgery is daunting. A part of me is afraid that if the cancer returns, I will not have the strength or will to fight again.

Yet, within all of this, there has been growth. As my body regains strength, I am learning what it needs at this point in my life. I may never be a runner again, but the peace a long walk brings me more than makes up for it. I may never be able to ski a full day again, but skiing a half day with family and friends is more than enough. I may only be lifting three-pound weights now, but a year ago, I was only lifting one-pound weights. I may never be as flexible as I once was, but I can still show up for yoga classes. My recovery time is shortening as my endurance is increasing. These small victories remind me that I am I building a foundation for strength and health.

Emotionally I have also learned to honor where I am. It is okay that I have tiggers when laying down in my bed. I spent a great deal of time surviving there. Small changes like rearranging picture frames and removing the TV from the room have made a profound difference. It is okay if I do not want to go to the cancer center-I can acknowledge that feeling and still walk through the front doors. It is okay to fear recurrence. It would be another massive adjustment for me and my family, and that fear is valid. But this time away from treatment has been so precious, and both my husband and son have fully embraced it.

Most importantly, I have learned who I can trust with my emotions. Some people will never truly hear me, no matter how much I try to explain. And that is okay. The ones who do-the ones who allow me to share my truth without using it against me-those are my people. That is where I find solace. I will continue to lean into those relationship as I heal, grow, and thrive throughout my remission.

No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.

~Budda