Happy chemoversary to me!

Two years have passed since my last chemo treatment.  I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about how I wanted to “celebrate” this day. It didn’t feel right, though, celebrating. Not when there are so many people dying of cancer, being diagnosed with disease, and going through long-term sicknesses with no end in sight. What right do I have to dance and be happy when so many others are suffering?  Wait…that’s idiotic. Let’s take the focus of my cancer experience off me, and turn it to where it belongs.  I should brag about what God’s done in my life (that’s been a theme in our current sermon series). And not just what happened two years ago, but what he does every day.  Being quiet isn’t an option. And sharing is important.

God’s work in my life has been substantial over the last two years. During cancer treatment I learned to rely on him through my suffering, and in the end my suffering brought me closer to him. As chemo ended I started to feel closer to some of the people in my church, but I wanted more. I remember chatting with a church friend about not feeling as connected as I wanted, and she got me in touch the ladies’ ministry team. I quickly went from being the person who said that I would rather be shot than participate in ladies’ events to being the one to help plan them. Never would I have thought that I would attend the ladies’ retreat; sharing a hotel room (and bed!) with other people is definitely not something I enjoy. But my longing to be with other believers trumped my discomfort. I went from feeling a little like a stranger at church to feeling like I belong (despite only having one kid in a church full of big families!). I even read scripture during church services on occasion. And sometimes I mess up terribly in front of the entire congregation, but at that I simply smile and am grateful that I even am able to stand in front of everyone at all. God has taken introverted, awkward me and has given me wonderful opportunities to grow.

A cancer recurrence is in the back of my mind quite a bit of the time. If it comes back I know I’ll be fine, but if I’m honest it is something I really, really don’t want to go through again. A few weeks ago I had to have another endometrial biopsy and it was SO painful. As I lay there on the table afterward, pretty sure I was going to vomit on the floor, I felt a little sorry for myself. Why do I have to be on this dumb medication that causes dumb side effects that lead to painful biopsies? I know that it is a small price to pay to keep the cancer from coming back, but sometimes it is frustrating. I was complaining about my situation on one of my cancer Facebook groups, and another survivor and dear friend reached out. She is a believer, and I trust her. We had coffee, and discussed ways to help my body heal. I am hopeful for improved health going forward.

And so, here I am, two years later. I took the day off work. I have no real plans to celebrate, but I do intend to spend the day doing only things that I enjoy. I will read, and take naps, and drink tea. I’m going to make some food for a sick friend. I have a house project I want to work on. I’ll think a little about this day two years ago, but it feels so far away. And that’s a good thing.