Getting there

Recently I read a post I wrote in Pink and Pearls (I think it was before surgery No. 4) in which I was waiting for a time that I’d no longer be waiting. As you know from reading, so much of my journey has been waiting for the next thing. The next step. The next surgery. The next recovery. The next results. And eventually, I was waiting for a time I’d no longer be waiting, because that meant I was done.

So much of my journey was also counting down. Ten days until the expanders come out. Five days until I’m done with the Bactrim. Three days until I can lift my arms above my head. Twenty-four hours until I can shower. Three days until the drains come out. Three days until the steri-strips are removed. Three months until my next surgery. I didn’t know what it was like to not be waiting, to not be counting down. I couldn’t remember my life before the breast cancer. What is it like to go more than six months without surgery? What was it like to not always be recovering? What was life like before the counting down and the waiting and the next step, and the next step, and the next step?

It tore me up inside and created anxiety and devastation, but through the counting down and the waiting I created a path for myself. I took all of my energy and focused it on the path, the timeline if you will. I hated it, but I forced myself to look forward to the next thing. The next surgery, then the next recovery. While it’s true that my days and my paths were filled with dark clouds and thorns, it was still a path and I still created, with my despair and anxiety, a way for me to keep trudging along. To keep focusing on the NEXT THING. The next surgery. The next test. The next recovery. Repeat: six times. I didn’t want it but I made it happen. I created it. I created that (sometimes) clear vision of where I was going next. I counted down the weeks to the next surgery, and then the weeks until I was “normal” again and then the weeks to the next surgery. I awaited test results, and if you’ve read my “steps” post, you’ll know I matched each recovery aspect with a step towards getting better and better. Bactrim done, steri-strips off, can lift my arms. I used my survival methods to create a timeline of paths and fences. Paths to walk through (often very slowly), and fences to climb over.

Today the fences are gone. There’s nothing left on the path. My surgeries are complete. I am finally left with the final result. The breast cancer is gone and I don’t fear its recurrence, in either side. Now, today, finally, I have reached the six words: the breast cancer is behind me.

And I am mentally healing as well as physically. Mentally, I am not thinking about cancer every waking moment of my life. Mentally, I am not afraid to take a shower. Mentally, I feel that I conquered the breast cancer. Mentally, I feel it is gone and not coming back. Physically, I have been running, lifting weights and biking. Physically I sleep on both sides, and am working on my stomach. Physically, it doesn’t hurt to take deep breaths. Physically, I am so happy with my results. And both physically and mentally, I can look in the mirror and feel whole. I feel like a woman. I feel complete. I feel like ME. (just a little bit enhanced.)

Now, as I reshuffle, I must find new paths. Life is moving forward very quickly. Good things and plans are blossoming. I am moving PAST all this. I am whole and I am satisfied and I am healthy and I am moving forward. I just feel a little unsettled that all of a sudden, I don’t have those paths and fences. I’m not counting down or waiting. I’m not waiting or counting down. I am just living. I am just BEING. But I did this. I let myself get to this place. I let myself heal and I let myself recover and I came out stronger and better (and with a bigger cup size!). I let myself get past all this, and I let myself move forward. I am not the breast cancer anymore, and the breast cancer isn’t me. I’ll always be a survivor. A Leukemia survivor and a breast cancer survivor. But I’m also a survivor of other things.

It’s weird to feel done. It’s weird to not be waiting or counting down. It’s weird to know I won’t be cut up again and won’t have to heal again. It’s weird to know that the breasts I have now, are the ones I’ll pretty much always have. I waited for this day where I could just BE. And now it’s here. And I have to learn all over again what that means. But that’s OK. I can do it. I’m really, really good at “getting there.”