I want to tell you something different. Something along the lines of I celebrated five years of being cancer-free yesterday! I want to tell you that it was a happy day and I went to lunch with my husband or friends or cooked a special dinner in honor of the occasion. The fact is that none of that happened.
The night before, I spent anticipating what the day would be like. My anxiety grew more and more so I made some plans to combat what my emotions were constructing. I planned to wait in line to get a NCAA National Championship shirt (we're Texas Tech fans -- more on that later) and I did that from 8:30 AM - 10:00. I read Brene Brown's book "The Gifts of Imperfection" -- excellent book -- while I waited. Then I grabbed a quick breakfast and headed home. We just remodeled our kitchen and there's still unpacking to do, so I'd love to say I worked on that. Or maybe cleaned up my daughter's bedroom, or even called up a friend for coffee -- anything to distract me from the fact that it had been five years since my mastectomy. I didn't do any of that though. Instead, I told BHE (Best Husband Ever) that I needed time to myself, so I crawled into bed and stayed there for the next several hours. I didn't read, I didn't write, I didn't even surf Facebook or Instagram to check on what was happening with friends. I simply laid there. I thought about how angry I am at cancer and what it's done to me, what it's still doing to me. I thought about what it's done to friends and those still struggling to beat it. I thought about what I've lost and what I'll never get back, about the pills I still have to take and how it makes my hair thin and has other frustrating side effects.
Later I picked my sweet daughter up from school, not wanting to leave the safety of my bed but having to face the world. Then we got frozen yogurt because Mondays are always treat days. Then we came home and I went back to my bed. I told her it was because I had to rest up to stay awake for the championship game that night. The truth is that handling life was just too much. So she and BHE went to the store to get dinner supplies while I stayed home. I got out of bed when they got back and somewhat participated with the world, mainly waiting for the game to start so I would feel some sense of excitement and joy on what had been a pretty miserable day. And I did. Some sweet friends came over to help us watch the game and we cheered our team to a near victory in a basketball game that went into overtime. I went to bed full of ambivalence over the game and over life.
I woke up this morning hopeful, but feeling much of what I felt yesterday. Thankfully I already had a session with my counselor scheduled for 11:00. Again, instead of doing something productive to pull me out of my funk, I took my daughter to school then crawled back into bed until 10:30. Some of you are probably reading that and thinking that sounds heavenly. I wish it were. It's hell. It's stewing and stifling and stuck in the same negative thought patterns every time I go there. It's the worst of my anxiety and depression and feelings of worthlessness and guilt. So while it's a beautiful gift of a day today, I couldn't seem to stay out of my bed and it pisses me off. I saw my counselor -- a precious blessing in my life -- and we talked through it. I mostly cried through it. She said a lot of wise things and asked some challenging questions. Then I went to Target (where all good things come from) to get the kids' Easter stuff. I thought that would make me feel better. It didn't. So guess what I did? You got it -- came home and crawled back in bed. I told my counselor I wouldn't do that. We came up with a plan of other things I could do instead, people I could confide in, activities in which I could engage. But I didn't. I went back to my anxiety and depression and wallowed. But here I am now, writing it out as I often do when I need to get things out and move on with my life. It's the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes.
So, for those wondering what that 5-year mark means for cancer survivors, I can only speak for myself. It's tough, just like every other cancer anniversary. I wish I could say it's been a celebration of life, a joyous day full of thanksgiving. It hasn't been that way for me and I think that's okay. I'm still grieving and healing and that's okay too. But I'm here and for that I'm thankful.
