Redefining Normal

Life After Cancer

I counted down the days to when active treatment for cancer would be over.

I counted down the appointments to when I would be free.

I celebrated at the beach with my family when I finally finished my year-long chemo drug.

I made it! I should have been happy, right?

I was happy for a short amount of time.

I was excited to feel like myself again. I was excited to get back to my workouts. I was excited to feel well. I was thrilled at the prospect of having energy again!

That’s not what happened.

I kept waiting.

I waited, and waited, and waited some more.

At my next visit with my oncologist he asked how I was doing and I rattled off some of my complaints and he looked at me and said, “Molly, I’ve never heard you complain before.”

I went on to explain to him that I had expected chemo to suck. I anticipated that surgery would be difficult. I was ridiculously anxious about radiation therapy.

I, however, was not aware that my life would not go back to normal when all was said and done. Nobody prepared me for that. Was this something that I was supposed to have known?

I knew that I would have to take pills for several more years. I suppose in light of everything else, that seemed like a very minor detail. I did not stop to think about how those pills could impact me.

Yet there I sat, feeling alone and more isolated than ever.

I didn’t think that was possible. I went through active treatment in my early thirties. I was the youngest person in the waiting room at each of my appointments. I felt too young for the cancer space and too young for the menopause space. Yet, there I was.

During active treatment life seemed to be going on full force around me while I was just sick of being sick and just wanted to be able to taste food again.

I wanted to laugh with friends and celebrate. I finished chemo two days before Christmas. My double mastectomy was scheduled a few weeks into the new year. My holidays were spent spiraling.

I’m now two years out of active treatment and I still don’t recognize myself. I feel foreign in my body.

All of my relationships feel like they have changed yet again.

Normally when someone tells me that my life is “normal” again, I understand that they’ve clearly never been through this battle. When my aunt said this to me and I knew that she had been through this, I felt angry and confused. How can you go back to “normal?” I’m trying to figure out my new normal.

I can’t go back to how things were before. Those days are long gone.

I see everything through a very different lens now.

I took note of who treated me differently when I was diagnosed. I remember when people offered support but never delivered. I can’t forget how quickly the check-ins stopped. I recall the support lent to others in different but also very difficult situations. I remember the well meaning but wildly unhelpful comments.

How do I just go back to life before cancer?

How do I think about my future without worrying on some level about cancer haunting me?

I don’t see that as a possibility.

This realization is helping me, though. Knowing that I can’t go back to how I was, I have finally accepted that I have no choice but to embrace my new normal.

I am now choosing to be kinder to myself. I can now look forward to my goals because I’m giving myself grace and compassion.

I still struggle with thinking too much about long term goals, but I’m embracing small steps. I’m building my confidence with small wins. I’m taking life one decision at a time, and that has been beautiful.