November 5

It's the night before my second (and hopefully last) surgery; a day I've been looking forward to since I heard the dreaded "you have cancer" diagnosis from my surgeon. I'm finally here at the finish line; tomorrow's surgery is the last big step in getting rid of the cancer and getting me back to "normal." From here on out (God willing), the only thought of this experience will be the tiny little white pill (tamoxifen) I take each night before bed.

I went back and read some of my early blog posts and I'm so happy that I decided to write all of this down.  Somehow I'd forgotten things, major things, that were a necessary part of the process (i.e. the dread I felt when telling my family and friends the diagnosis; the crazy sensation of drain tubes being removed, etc.).  There's good and bad there - I don't want to forget all that I've been through because it reminds me of how strong I am, but I think time is softening the details a little (maybe a coping mechanism?). I have to say though - the time leading up to surgery #1 was way scarier than the time leading up to surgery #2.  I'm not twitching right now, and I'm 91% calm and collected (the list of things to stress-clean tonight is much shorter than last time ha).

I've come a very long way and have been through hell. I hate that I know so much about the disease, that being pricked with needles has become routine, and that I'm part of a "club" I never wanted to join. I'm ready to not be terrified when wondering if the cancer will come back (something that might take years to get over); to not wake up in pain because I'd accidentally rolled onto my side in my sleep; to feel confident in my clothes again. I am so ready.  

Cancer, you've been a very unwelcome shadow in my life for too long.  You've ruined the plans I had for starting a family (right now, anyway), you've given me physical and emotional scars that will never go away and you've been a major contributor to an already terrible year. You've shown me paralyzing fear in the "ignorance is bliss" life I'd been living. Any tears I might cry will be out of joy at your absence; please never return.