28 Weeks Post Final Chemo

It's ten months to the day since my breast surgeon called and told me I had breast cancer. "I got your biopsy results back, and it is a small cancer." I guess she was trying to make me feel better with that "small" business. My oncologist also said, "Well, it's small," the first time he felt it. WHO CARES?? CANCER.

Anyway, now that December is here, I've been thinking a whole lot about how glad I will be to put this garbage pit of a year behind me. I'm not usually one for artificial milestones and all that, but god, 2015 has been the worst. But I decided that rather than listing out all the things that made it terrible - because everyone reading this knows about my big personal ones, and the sadness in my friends' lives is not for me to share - I should instead probably write a post talking about the things that made it good.

I'm absolutely not one of those people who thinks we should Learn Lessons from going on a Cancer Journey or some bullshit, but I have learned something whether I wanted to or not, and mainly it's that I'm living the life I'm supposed to be living. I know because when I found out I had cancer, I didn't feel like I had a pending list of items to take care of. I didn't want to change anything or do anything differently. I just wanted MORE. More time with Ben and my family and friends, more traveling, more books, more sitting around my house in pajamas with cats.

There is a sense of urgency now underlying everything and I'm not really sure I want it to go away. That sense of urgency is responsible for being six weeks from paying off our house, for making the decision at the last second to go to my 20th high school reunion and having an awesome time, for booking a trip to London next spring with my mom (sorry, Hillary), for realizing that if I've wanted to drive an Audi A4 for ten years I should probably just go ahead and get one. I mean, not until we pay the house off - I haven't lost my mind or anything. But after that.

It's like I'm constantly walking a line between wanting to live my normal life and also feeling like I need to treasure every second and take every opportunity to do everything interesting or fun. For now that feels okay, and part of me hopes I don't ever lose that feeling of conscious gratitude I've gained as a result of learning in one terrifying second how fragile the little life I've created actually is. Part of me is still pretty pissed off about that one terrifying second, though, and wants my naive little life back.

My hair is weird, and I am tired of talking about it, but here it is. 

I know I need to not cut it and just push through until it grows enough to not look like an elderly style, and I know I should be glad to not be bald. Essentially, though, having hair like this feels the same to me as when I was bald. "Oh, but I like it!" people say. Well, fine, but I didn't do this on purpose, and it's different from anything I have ever seen on my head before, and it's a constant reminder of my year from hell. Someone recently said to me, "Some people pay a lot of money for curls like those!" but of course I did pay a lot of money for curls like these. Like, way more than anyone has ever paid for a perm.

I have 78 days until my last Herceptin. I'm going to try to schedule my port removal the same day. I'm ready to move on. Yeah, it might come back. I might have cancer growing in my body right this second. But I need to try to at least pretend I believe it's going to be okay for a while.