Lest I Forget

I can go days without thinking about it. But sometimes the fear and the anxiety come roaring back, and I find myself consumed by it.

I am a cancer survivor, and my treatment went so well and I've been so healthy that it's easy for me to forget, 4 years later, that I had a life-threatening disease. The closer I get to that 5-year mark, the benchmark that for many marks a division between "remission" and "cure", the easier it is to forget that a recurrence is a real possibility for anyone who has been treated for cancer, both days and decades after treatment ends. The well-publicized cancer recurrences of both Elizabeth Edwards and Tony Snow in recent weeks have shaken me because they have reminded me that, for survivors, remission is a fragile and precious thing.

I used to think about my cancer daily and obsessively. I am lucky, I suppose, in that if my cancer ever comes back I am probably going to see an unmistakable physical change in my body; my Hodgkin's lymphoma affected the lymph nodes under my arms and above my collarbone, and caused them to swell to golf balls. Part of my morning ritual the first year or so of remission was to check, and re-check, and triple-check for lumps and bumps. I darn near made myself crazy doing that; if you check your body long enough, you're going to discover unusual anatomy. Visiting the oncologist every 3 months initially was a great touchstone, though, and I eventually learned what was normal and not worth worrying about.

Oncology visits are only scheduled for twice a year now, and it gives me a little more time in between to wonder and worry. One of my cancerous areas was under my breastbone, and since I can't feel that lymph node, it's more troubling. Flickers of pain in my chest or a particularly bad chest cold are enough to raise my anxiety, but when things settle down, I can go back to living a pretty normal life. Sure, I have a few permanent side effects from chemo and radiation (many of us do), but I can get by. I am here. I am strong. I have had clean PET scans. I am closing in on 5 years.

But then there are times, like the past couple of weeks, where it seems as though I am absolutely surrounded by cancer. It's all I think about. It is on the cover of literally every news magazine that has come into my library this week, fueled I am sure by 2 prominent people recently announcing that their cancers have come back. It's on every episode of the nightly news. And it's a part of my work--I chair my county's Relay for Life and work on the planning and fundraising here at school since we are hosting the event. It makes it so hard to forget.

Truthfully, I don't want to forget. Cancer is part of who I am. No good can come from just wallowing in it and feeling sorry for myself, but good can come from my cancer if I accept it and embrace it. I know that my cancer could come back; my oncologist has told me that Hodgkin's can come back as long as 10 years out of treatment. (Though he also said such a recurrence 10 years out is as rare as a foot of snow on Easter Sunday.) (It's pretty darn wintry out there right now, less than a week before Easter--this isn't helping my cancer anxiety much.) I have been told that I will need annual cancer follow-ups and PET scans the rest of my life. The best I can do is to live each day as fully as I can and not let "what if" ruin the normalcy I am finally feeling. Sure, there will be bad days and health scares. But I am one of the lucky ones. Chances are, I am going to live long enough to watch my daughter graduate from high school. I am already very close to one goal I set for myself--to wave goodbye to Ainsley on her first day of school. A sobering number of young cancer survivors do not get those gifts. For their sake, I should take nothing for granted. For their sake, I should never forget.