I’m almost 4 months into recovery. That’s almost half the time I spent off work because of cancer. For the most part I’m feeling good. I can go through my days feeling like I’m normal and nothing bad happened to me. On the outside I look fine. My colour is back, my short hair has become part of my new look, the fatigue is almost all gone and I can make it to bedtime, although it’s 2 hours earlier than it was before cancer, without a nap.
Most days I try not to talk about having had cancer unless someone brings it up. I guess I’m afraid people either don’t want to hear about it anymore, they think I should be over it by now or never understood it in the first place or the symptoms I feel are related to menopause and or getting old.
But rarely does an hour go by without some reminder of it having been the controller of my life for 8 months. I still struggle occasionally with finding the words I need, I still sleep lots on weekends, I still can’t walk as far as I used to without my knees hurting like crazy and I still lose my balance (with and without the foobs). As much as I’d like to think these are because of menopause or aging, I know that they’re because of cancer and treatment.
I still have days where I’m just tired and I just want to cry some more. Days where I get scared of cancer coming back. Days I’m not sure if I can deal with it all or not. On those days I spend a lot of time telling myself I did it-I got through cancer and treatment. I’m ok and getting better every day. Cancer will soon be a distant memory.
The thing is, cancer and the treatment of it has become my Siamese twin. It’s with me every waking minute, it wakes me in the middle of the night, it walks with me where ever I go and it doesn’t wash off with soap and water. But it’s invisible to everyone else so I try not to mention it anymore.