If I could list all the names of the wonderful women I know that have been touched by breast cancer... well, I'd never stop writing. But five women in particular, have been on my mind in the past month and I just have to write about them tonight.
It has been six months; half a year since I last wrote an entry. It's been a while. Six months ago I reached the end of my radiation treatments. I'm still on medication that I'll be on for four more years. I'm still going to the hospital regularly, but the visits are few and far between. My life has gone back to normal, for the most part. I was on leave for six weeks, came back to work, got promoted and started anew at my awesome job. As the days wore on, life became more and more about my daughter, my husband, my family, my friends, my hobbies... and me. That also means it became less and less and less about cancer. Life goes on. And as it does for me, so it does for others I know...
Paula. My dear friend, who is celebrating this year, 10 years in remission. 10 years cancer free. I am inspired by you; and grateful to you for being there for me two January's ago when I chose to shave my head before my hair fell out. You took me out while I was in chemo and needed a change of pace. We spent all night sipping coffee at the Starbucks inside the Barnes & Noble. I still remember. I'm grateful that you were texting with me during my first mammogram this year. You made me laugh when I was screaming in terror inside, as they asked to take more pictures. Then you celebrated with me when the results were negative. The same celebration you've been having year after year now, for the past 10 years. I look to you and think... I can be like her. I will celebrate 10 years too. And more.
Meredith. A new friend who seems to be living a parallel life to mine. I call you friend now because there's no other word to describe you... even though we haven't met in person yet. I know people that you know. You know people that I know. They've been telling us for the past year that we should know each other. And now we do... thanks to you... because you reached out. You are roughly my age, you have kids too. You were diagnosed less than two months after I was. You were in chemo the days I was in chemo. You must've been exhausted the same days I was exhausted. You were in radiation the same days I was in radiation. You must've been burnt and peeling and itchy the same days I was going through it all too. It was you who said in one email that you were finding yourself thinking less and less about cancer as the diagnosis and treatments got further and further away. I know in my heart that when you read this, you will know exactly what I felt when I started writing; that you will know exactly why I was compelled to write this today. I'm looking forward to meeting you too.
Kath. I loved seeing you last week at the social media workshop. I loved walking into the room, standing behind you and realizing that I knew who that woman was standing in front of me hanging up her coat. I loved sitting next to you in a very ordinary, everyday, work endeavor - knowing that we had something more in common than having had breast cancer. When I met you, you had been diagnosed already. You were going through chemo, in fact. I confess- I couldn't wrap my head around it back then. I look back now and I realize I could've been... should've been a better friend, neighbor to you. And yet, the day I was diagnosed, you were one of the first people I called. And you called me back right away. I will never forget that. I will NEVER FORGET THAT. You are amazing. I've watched you live your life... get up everyday... achieve your goals. You taught me to not be afraid of what was to come. And you were right- the hardest part was the beginning; the not knowing.
Joy. My high school friend. When you wrote me last year to tell me you had been diagnosed, my heart sank. I had hoped, prayed that I would be the only other person I would ever know to be diagnosed with breast cancer. I know that couldn't possibly happen. But to hear about someone in my own high school class... that was hard to hear. And yet, you gave me the opportunity to turn around and comfort you, the same way so many other caring women comforted me. I was able to... pay it forward. I've followed you on Facebook and watched you handle every step of your treatment with the same grace and strength I knew you to have even back in our high school days. You are gorgeous- in mind, body and spirit - through the treatments and now as you move forward.
Marie. You came up to me today at the hospital. I was sitting waiting for my ovarian suppression shot. I was busily typing away on my phone, working since there was nothing else to do. I thought I recognized you when I first walked in, but when you didn't respond I thought I was mistaken. But then you got up and walked over. We shared a waiting room for many days last summer, waiting for our daily radiation treatments. I think I finished before you, or maybe it was the other way. It's all fuzzy now. But I do remember other names, faces from that waiting room - Margo, Cleo, Mary... and you. You looked great today. But there was something else. I know you were happy to see me; to reconnect. But when you told me you were there because your husband had more treatments, you looked sad. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that it goes on for you, and for your husband. But he and you are in my prayers. And I'm overwhelmed by how often you've thought about me, prayed for me. You are the reason why I'm writing this blogpost tonight. You have compelled me to reconnect... not with the cancer that I'm fighting... but with the inspiring silver lining that came with it. And that is you.
It's you, Marie. And you, Joy. You, Kath. You, Meredith. And you, Paula. And it's all the wonderful women and men who have come to my rescue, and continue to rescue me as I wake up everyday, grateful and amazed that I'm still here.
