Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I know it has been a hot minute since I have written a post. There hasn’t been much to report on other than I am just existing in the world and trying to figure myself out. I see the oncologist on February 13 for a check in, labs, and of course my favorite injection. At that appointment, we will be going over the final maintenance drug being added to my daily drug intake: the PARP inhibitor. I think she will also order scans. I really hope she does. I want to see what is happening inside of my wack body. It has been a minute.

I celebrate several weird milestones this month. February 11 is “Discovery Day,” the day I found my breast tumor at work. February 15 was the day I had my ultrasound and first mammogram. February 18 I had a biopsy. February 21 I received my official cancer diagnosis. Big month. Big oof.

Also, today is World Cancer Day!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

The first time I did inner child work in therapy shockingly was last summer. I have been in therapy on and off for the last ten years, with more regular visits the last three years spurred by the pandemic and my diagnosis. One of the exercises we conducted was finding where my inner child lived, where I saw her. She was in an empty room with four gray walls. The light was low. There was a chair that reminded me of a wood rocking chair but it didn’t move. I saw her through the walls as if I had x-ray vision. I couldn’t go in, but she knew I was there and I knew she knew.

I had a moment of reflection the other day and tapped into that part of me once more. It was less of my inner child and more of a version of myself that was much older in a field of knee high bright green stemmed plants with tiny yellow flowers. The wind was breezy and the sun was insanely bright, almost making the yellow flowers reflect light. That version of me is standing there in a pale blue dress with shoulder length brown hair. My arms are wrapped around myself like you would if you were hugging yourself. My eyes are wet. It feels like I am frozen in time, a VHS glitching. I do the same movements over and over. It is a version of me that used to exist. I am not sure if it is a projection or a ghost or something else. I knew I couldn’t stay there long but it is a vision that haunts me and replays over and over in my brain.

If you have never done inner child work, this description may feel silly or really strange. It is a powerful exercise that can be incredibly impactful when guided by a therapist and by posing really simple questions like how you are feeling when you see them or giving yourself a moment to see what they want you to know. I’ve been trying to have more moments for myself to process complex feelings in my daily routine because I have this worry that I use my daily routine as a way to ignore things. If I am too busy then I don’t have time to think about how I really feel, ironic given I am always the first to focus on how others feel. It caught me off guard that my moment of reflection and introspection led me there. I haven’t really experienced that outside of therapy but leaned into it.

So, what does it all mean? I don’t have a full answer yet, but I am on to something.

Being NED or in remission or whatever you want to call it is a complex experience especially while on maintenance drugs with a stage IV diagnosis. It challenges the stereotype I had in my mind of what stage IV is: an immediate death sentence. I currently have no proposed expiration date by my doctor. I am expected to live and still can be marked as curative. Largely this can be attributed to the tiny lesions in my spine that were caught early and treated aggressively and the maintenance drugs I take every day. This also can be attributed to advances in medical technology and my type of cancer.

So why is this so fucking hard? I’m alive. I am starting to live again. Ultimately the answer is wrapped up in the ever evolving journey of survivorship. Survivorship is learning to let go of who you were so you can learn more about who you are now and who you need to be. And that is hard. You didn’t ask to change. You maybe didn’t want to change. You had to change in order to survive. That comes with mounds of grief and facing your fears head all while coming to terms with the fact that you are not in control. You can do it all right and it still may not be enough. That is fucking scary.

And it is scary. Survivorship is free falling in a nightmare only to wake up in a pool of sweat. It is every ache and pain inducing paranoia of rogue cells. It is the painful stretch of scar tissue in your arm as you reach for the mug in your cabinet and it is the never ending pill bottles on your dinner table. It is purple text reminders of your upcoming appointments and dark humor jokes about dying by your next birthday. It is every tear that races the water down your cheeks in the shower and the aches in your joints when you do dishes.

But survivorship is also lemon raspberry cake and dinner with your friends. It is laughing more when you watch your favorite TV show for the tenth time and it’s letting the rain hit your hair instead of trying to run for cover. It is feeling your heart race when you exercise and feeling the soil in between your fingers when you re-pot your plants. It is a five second hug and saying how you feel all the time. It is touching your new hair on your head multiple times a day to make sure it is still there and it is making plans for tomorrow.

That last one… making plans for tomorrow. I sat here for a few minutes and cried over that. Because even without cancer, tomorrow is not a promise. And yet, we make plans anyway.

So I now make plans in survivorship in ways I couldn’t make plans when I was in treatment. I don’t know where this is going but I am hopeful I get to see where I am headed.

I have carried feelings of anger towards my vessel for almost a year. I have been mad that my genes have mutations that harm me. I have been mad that I didn’t “love” myself enough to do breast exams more frequently. I have been mad I didn’t ask enough questions about the history of cancer in my family. I have been mad that my body did not respond to chemotherapy with a full response. I’ve hated the cells and scars on my body that have only done what they were asked to do: to heal.

I am beginning to learn exercises in forgiveness for the things I can and the things I cannot control in survivorship. They are complex motions of healing and ones that nobody could teach me or show me where to find them. Nobody could send me on this journey. It was one I had to seek out on my own. It is not linear and doesn’t have a timeline. There is a lot of work to be done but I think I am on the right path.

All of that being said, this seemed to be a fitting post to share on World Cancer Day! I had no idea today was that day until I saw it on my Instagram feed this afternoon. It is also the two year cancerversary for my friend finishing breast cancer treatment. Cheers to that! One of the cancer accounts I follow shared the following sentiment for World Cancer Day that I thought was worth sharing:

“As everyone talks about raising awareness and money for World Cancer Day, let’s talk about what cancer really means to us patients. It’s difficult, disruptive, a trigger, and it totally turns our worlds upside down but one thing that the world has brought to us because of cancer is community. It is a community that fosters support, validation and healing. To me, that’s what World Cancer Day is all about. I’m not here to ask you what you have done since you were diagnosed with cancer. I’m here to tell you that I’m glad you are still here since you were diagnosed with cancer.”

The Cancer Patient via Instagram

I’m glad you’re still here. I’m glad I am still here.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by The Wanted.

“The sun goes down, the stars come out
And all that counts is here and now
My universe will never be the same
I’m glad you came (Came, came, came)”

– Glad You Came, The Wanted