REMISSION

I have been in remission from cancer for six months. Six wonderful, glorious months. 

I feel ... oh, what's a good adjective? Blessed. Happy. Thrilled. Ecstatic. Grateful.

Mostly grateful. For every single day. 

However, remission isn't like it is shown in movies and books. I don't run around screaming, "I beat cancer!" I don't feel like David after he slayed Goliath. I don't feel like a warrior or even a thriver. I'm just someone who worked hard to get through cancer. 

And I am thankful for six cancer-free months. 

Of course, I hope I will have more. I hope I never face the monster Cancer again. But I'm not stupid. I know I have a 40% chance of relapse. I am living now in six-month chunks - six months between PET scans. 

I feel like I'm living with a bully who may jump out of his hiding place and beat me up at any time. Or maybe not. I don't know. I live with uncertainty. Hoping and praying my cells will not mutate. 

But in the meantime, I live with joy, enjoy my newly grown hair (short and weird, but there), and love living in the real world again, enjoying the possibility of growing old and seeing my grandchildren grow up. 

It is enough. And I am grateful. 

Take That, Cancer

 

I have always wanted to go to Cologne Cathedral. 

The facts are impressive – the largest Gothic church in northern Europe and a UNESCO World Heritage site. It took 600 years to build and has the largest bells in the world. 

It’s magnificent. It made the travel agenda five months after I finished chemotherapy. I barely had any air, and I wasn't sure I had enough energy to take the trip, let alone climb a bell tower.

Nonetheless, I decided to climb the tower. All 533 steps. Tiny steps in an enclosed spiral staircase. No place to rest until you’re almost at the top.

It’s a commitment for anybody, and I wondered briefly if I was foolish. What if I got tired? I was no stranger to fatigue these days. What if it was too much? I was still anemic and occasionally felt lightheaded. What if, what if, what if…

I started up the steps, slowly and carefully. And kept going and going, relishing the view along the way. I marveled that I was able to walk that narrow staircase, when months ago it was a challenge to walk from my bed to the kitchen. Tears stung my eyes as I put one foot in front of the other and felt the real healing of my body.

When I got to the top, I soaked in the view, as the city of Cologne spread out far below. “Take that, Cancer,” I said.

Take that, indeed.