Still Alive

I was walking today, and my arms were swinging. I felt all the blood pooling in my fingers. It's a strange sensation, walking, moving, feeling alive. Not to say it's strange, like it doesn't happen to everyone, every day; but just that for me, feeling alive is in the small things now.

It's been a while since I've made an entry. The primary focus of this blog when I first started was to help me navigate the trauma of being diagnosed with Stage 3C (you're lucky if you live 2 years) cancer to what is now, I suppose, my continued existence.

If you've been reading you know that I did EVERYTHING I could to defeat cancer, and so far we show no signs of metastisis (which is the cancer spreading to another location from the primary), this is good news.

For the past while I have been taking exemestane - which is a drug that supresses estrogen, and a zoladex injection which does the same. Exemestane put me into menopause in 6 months with no apologies, zoladex knocks me out for a week every month.

I can't really work. Imagine saying to a potential employer "I can work, but I'll need a week off every month" even for part-time it's ridiculous. So I haven't. It's been a tremendous strain on our family and my relationship but it is what it is.

We carry on. My daughters are amazing. I don't know how I got so lucky to have two amazing children, they really have been through some tough times. They are resilient and strong and confident.

One off to Uni in the fall and the other starting grade 9. I am so grateful every day when I wake up and am still here.

The other day I was dusting under my bed and I found my box of journals I wrote to them when I was first diagnosed and battling. I didn't open them. There are 12 - 6 per kid. 150 pages each. Me barfing up all I could, for them, fearing that not only might they forget me but also there was so much of me I wanted to impart. They remain there. Under the bed. Someday they will find them.

Now, life is different. I'm confused and lonely, I'm happy and sad. I'm grateful and angry.

I miss my breasts.

I know my love life is over. It's a hard pill to swallow.

Not just because of my anatomy but also because of the trauma of breast cancer.

I was thwarted into menopause, in the span of 4 months. I was a verile, beautiful confident woman, and now I don't even know who I am.

I know I'm alive. I know I can "be better".

I also feel alone on the journey.

It's not over when you get the "all clear" after an MRI. It's just an extension.

Every ache and pain is a worry,

Although, I have learned this in these 6 years: one day matters, the heartbeat in your fingertips matter.

No one is promised a sunrise and it could always be worse.

When I was walking I thought about all that's happened and how much I have to share. I'm going to start writing again, it's an outlet and also, maybe, if it helps just one person it's worth it.

So I continued home, walking, feeling my fingertips.

The way back in is through the smallest hope, the heartbeat of my soul and the steadfast desire to live. +