Now, I have no evidence of disease.
My hair is growing back. I have just graduated from multiple stages of mullet to a super short bob. A ponytail is in my future.
I still take a pill everyday.
I still get a shot every 4 weeks. It's like getting swatted with a stapler. I've missed it sometimes. I hate and dread going back to the hospital, even though everyone is so nice and beyond supportive.
I feel as if I am fighting a cold war. Every headache, bruise or cough, I worry that the cancer has returned and spread. And I know treatment for a recurrence would be even harder. So I worry, but there is nothing to be done. I remember people diagnosed after me who are not here to still fight. I wait and watch for signs the enemy has returned, its influence spread, and a resurgence lurking around every corner. It's not as if I am actively looking for it, but it is always in the back of my mind, like when I realize I am getting nauseous just from driving down the same street I used to take to chemo, even though I am not going to the hospital at all this time.
Nevertheless, I am here. I am still here. There are parts of my life that are very, very good. Better than before. In some ways, I worry less. "It's not cancer. No one is dying. Let it go." And, I savor more. The wind on my face and the leaves of the trees gently stirring. I am still here.
But, it doesn't feel over.
Still fighting.
