Four years ago this week, I first noticed my lump. My wife had went on vacation with her mother and I stayed home alone to take care of work projects and watch the dogs. The past three years, I never really paid any attention to this date. After all, it's the date I just noticed something. It wasn't the date I was diagnosed. It wasn't the date I had my surgery or went through chemo or anything. But that is the weird thing about cancer, it seems you are never really completely free.
This year we had planned to take my two year old to my parents to watch fireworks for the 4th of July. From their house, they can see most of the fireworks. And we thought if we take him there, and he doesn't like the loud noises, or the bright lights, or he just starts being...well, a two year old, we could just take him in the house and not have to deal with traffic or crowds or that one guy that has to describe every firework loudly. After we had made these plans, my job made other plans, and my wife offered to take my son without me. It was a plan that was seemingly perfect, my son could experience the fireworks for the first time and I could keep skittish dogs company in the country.
That is when it hit me last night. I have been passing my scans without any problem, and my scanxiety has dropped to almost nothing. I only have to go to the oncologist twice a year now Even my dermatologist told me that she could tell I was really making a good effort to avoid skin cancer. So I haven't been thinking about cancer much at all. But last night was different. I was back to that place four years ago, just me and the dogs. The weird thing is, I didn't feel a lump, but I did have that feeling, a feeling I can't explain.
Most of us when we are diagnosed, aside from the shock of the "C" word, you get this "icky" feeling that something is growing inside of you that wants to kill you. The surgery can't come quick enough, you just want that stuff out today. That is the feeling I had last night. The feeling that I was all alone again. The feeling that something icky was going on. What made last night even freakier, was without thinking, I picked up that PRS guitar I bought four years ago today to play with while they were gone. It's not one I normally play, but it's what I grabbed last night. The only one that was light enough for me to play after my surgery. The one that got me through cancer. Just as my mind flashbacked to the bad time four years ago, I also subconsciously reached for the one thing that helped me get through it too.
As I approach what I consider my fourth cancerversary, I have been thinking about when I am done. Is it five years? Is it ten? Is it when you quit going to the oncologist...I hope it's not that one, because I think he has been saying "just a few more years" since my second visit. As far as my health is concerned, I think I am done. I have been getting clean scans. I have finally been dropping the weight I gained while I was sick. And for the most part, I feel better than before any of this happened. But I guess it's harder to gauge the feeling that we are done mentally being affected by cancer. Because last night, I sat alone and scared and realized I wasn't as done as I thought I was. Or maybe I am, because I grabbed that PRS, just like I did after my surgery, and played until I didn't have cancer anymore.
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