Done, right?

So you’re done, right?
You’re back to normal!
Are you going to be increasing your work hours?
See, I told you you’d put this behind you!

I answer a feeble yes to all the questions,
the well-meaning comments, and all the congratulatory epithets.

How do I explain that I don’t know what done feels like anymore?
Sure, it’s been four months since my last radiation session, but-
Now begins the long, silent journey of remaining “cancer-free.”
Cue the hormonal therapy treatments for my cancer.

The journey I’m supposed to be grateful for because it means I get a chance at living.

The monthly injections that leave forever reminders on my belly, the nightly pills that I take with a prayer, hoping that this cancer doesn’t come back.
The medical bills don’t seem to care that I’m done, they keep trickling in by mail, showing yet another patient balance that is due.
The insults from insurance definitely don’t make me feel like I’m done. Their latest…a denial of a blood test that would have aided in the possible detection of a recurrence.

The burn on my chest dictates my summer outfits.
My bones creak every morning, denying me being done.
My brain fog has me thinking, is this what depression feels like, or is this chemo …maybe it’s both?
My fatigue still catches me off guard on a day I’ve overcommitted to being social.
I’m finding I can’t indulge in small talk like I used to.

The mental calculations of how much alcohol and processed meats I’ve had this month, and the guilt that I should be eating better, now occupy salient space in my brain.
As if my food habits were a magical mathematical equation to stave off a recurrence.

Hot tears spill unprovoked from my eyes, as my ear hears the harmless hum of DEXA scan machine. My heart races faster. I’m connecting the dots…the humming reminds me of the hum of the radiation machine. Those 33 radiation sessions in the winter seemed to have had an impression on my nervous system. My body is keeping score unbeknownst to me.

Is this what being done feels like?

Done feels tempered with hope and humility, and dealing with a new version of me that has new fears, anxieties, and worries.

But I’d be remiss not to mention that on some days, Done feels good.
It feels like bravery, badassery, and slowly relearning to breathe slower.
Done reminds me that I made it through, a reality denied to some on this journey.
Done feels like a reset in trying to do life right.

And in the space from the diagnosis to when treatment is predicted to end,
“Done-ish” feels more right.