I drag cancer behind me, like a shadow made of lead. It’s heavy and invisible. If I give it control, it can fully weigh me down, pushing me into a depth of despair. I can fear-spiral into oblivion, expecting leukemia symptoms to pop up at any moment. Did I bump into a chair to cause that bruise on my leg? Am I a normal amount tired or leukemia-level fatigued? I had a lingering cough last February; I was certain it was leukemia returning to ruin my life. No one can see my cancer shadow, and you have to be very close to me to know the weight it puts on me. I mask the pain and fear with laughter and perfect teeth. When someone finds out that I had cancer, they usually say, “But you look so healthy!” Was I supposed to look sickly forever? On many occasions, in conversation with my husband and me, a person will talk about me like I am not present, they will look at him and comment about me, “Wow, she looks really good now.” I have become an object for conversation, rarely invited to jump in and discuss myself. I have learned people rarely know what to say, to anyone, ever.
It is oddly polarizing both to hate a thing and to appreciate it. Looking in the mirror as the last nine years have rolled by, I have hated the scars left by my cancer treatment: PICC line, port scar, and bone marrow biopsy holes. My hair went from bald to mini afro, then, through the awkward grow-out stage, turning grayer by the second. At the same time, I can look in the mirror and marvel at my body: wow, look at the skin and bones that sustained me and a baby during treatment and then nursed a baby for twenty months! Both a gift and a curse, cancer certainly changed me. It had to, because if such a traumatic unfolding of events doesn’t change you for the better, then it won. I was left somehow both stronger and softer after cancer; learning that I could make it through the most difficult circumstance built me up, added to the under- standing of myself, medicine, and God. A softness was added to my heart, as every wisp of wind feels like magic, every bird’s chirp a symphony conducted for my pleasure. I see the world through the rose-colored glasses that are handed out whenever anyone is able to leave the cancer center on this side of heaven.
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This is beautiful and speaks to my soul.