Welcome, fellow Cancer Survivors!

Travel with me as I explore previously unknown territory: My body's reactions to Chemotherapy. I am a 28 year old Mother, Wife, and Daughter. I have started this blog in the hopes of coming closer to my true self. May all who pass through here meet with Peace and Grace.

Friday, February 4, 2011

The Aftermath...

Hello, to any and all who have been casually or obsessively reading this.

Yes, I am fully aware of the huge gap in dates between this post and my last collection of thoughts.

I have decided not to make excuses, as is my weakness, but to say simply this: I am ready to record my deepest thoughts again. There's something to be said for all the musings that float freely in your head suddenly being thrust onto a screen in front of your eyes. I think thoughts suddenly made tangible is a bit frightening to me at times...

If you are willing to bear with me again as I delve into my psyche, I, perhaps, am also willing to go through with this once more.

It has been since July of 2010 that I have ended Chemotherapy. My hair is growing in thick and healthy, my nails are now strong, and, even though it may prove a bit of an embarrassment to some reading this -- but it is of a very high priority to me -- My bodily functions have returned to nearly normal (THANK HEAVENS!).

I do need to visit the hospital once every three months to perform a CT scan for this next year, until this December, which marks a two year landmark. After that, it is once every 6 months for... well, probably quite some time.

The first CT Scan after my initial termination of Chemotherapy was a relief to be negative. The second CT Scan I have just had this last Wednesday was also negative. It continues to stir up emotions in me, however, and I am not always ready to admit this. Going into this, and, I'm sure, for anyone who has ever thought about the circumstance of Chemotherapy, I told myself that some day, in the conceivable future, I will be over and done with this. This will all be an experience that will loose it's horrific colors in a few years, fading with time and with understanding of my body.

But what do you tell yourself as you go to scan after scan, hoping that the process won't find anything? I am always confident, even though this event still rattles me. I suppose I continue to tell myself that it's only normal to be scared of the outcome, everyone is probably apprehensive going into CT Scans.

I find these procedures always stir up so many emotions in me, and bring to the surface so many things I either ignored and refused to acknowledge.

I've been curious as to how many survivors shut off aspects of themselves completely. Taking blows to the body, inevitably loosing organs that held the disease, and probably various circumstances that brought us uncomfortably close to the realization of death. I think we need to acknowledge at some point this very traumatic occurrence may have shook us and brought us face to face with aspects of ourselves we have always denied.

And I think it's finally safe for me to turn on these aspects again. It's okay to feel this deepest fear and and this experience in my past, and know I shall continue to see all the facets life has to offer me. Even if there may be pain again, even if there may be disappointment or loss.

Only then, I think, can I enjoy everything that I have in life with abandonment...

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