If you want to test your memory, try to recall what you were worrying about one year ago today.
E Joseph Cossman
"I can't see how it's not cancer."
That's how my day went, one year ago today. My cancerversary.
I had figured out that I had some sort of cancer before I got that casual confirmation. Everything I'd read said either an infection or cancer. Infection had already been ruled out. I don't know if my knowing affected my reaction as much as one would think. That dramatic surprise wasn't there, but like a lot of people, I sit in every doctor's office certain that they're going to find something horrible. Sucks being right sometimes.
Of course, knowing makes no difference in how you go from there. You just have to deal with it as long as you can until it's done. If I had to sum it all up, that's how I'd describe my experience with surgery and treatment and the permanent effects of treatment. Endurance. That necessity of life in general, enhanced a bit. Quite a bit at first, but now it's slowed to a steady pace and it's just another thing to deal with like brushing your teeth twice a day, plus.
That's kind of a good analogy, actually. I used to brush my teeth twice a day, sometimes three. Now I have to brush my teeth four or five times a day, at least. No saliva and stuff. I used to be able to wolf down a slice of pizza in about 30 seconds if I was in a hurry. Now, one slice is a half hour affair and it's cold and I'm bored and tired of chewing by the then.
But this wasn't meant to be a gripey post. I'm grateful to be here, one year later, to be able to write this. The support that friends and family and complete strangers, and even Pizza Hut gave me didn't kill the cancer, but they saved my heart and mind from certain collapse. My parents did what parents are supposed to do and took care of me. Babied me, almost, highlighting how amazing they are, sharper against the dimness of the many horrible families I've known.
It's 366 because of Leap Year, in case you're wondering.