It is the evening before my MRI and I am scared. I have spent the past 2 weeks on a long awaited beach vacation with my family, blissed out, sunbaked and quietly counting down the days until this appointment. I am sitting in bed with knots in my stomach, my mind racing with wild scenarios and hating myself for not going Vegan, for not working out more, for not giving up alcohol and chocolate desserts. My entire body feels like it wants to come apart at the seams and I don’t know whether to cry or scream. I know I won’t sleep tonight.
As a part of my continued monitoring, I have mammograms and MRIs roughly every 6 months. This imaging acts as a net, so to speak, designed to catch any cancerous cells in my body that are either remaining from my original tumor or newly developing. This imaging is the key to my survival. Catching something early is a difference maker for Triple Negative Breast Cancer. So, although these appointments are “routine”, every 6 months I relive the anxiety, fear and trauma I am trying like hell to outrun as a cancer patient living on The Other Side. And that’s the part about Cancer nobody bothered explaining to me; it’s not over when the bell rings and you “graduate” from treatment. It’s not over when your eyelashes start growing back and your clothes fit again. It is a hill you climb forever.
For the most part, I am great about focusing on the good stuff. I don’t mind talking about cancer, I’m not in denial about what happened to me and I know my prognosis is good. But every 6 months, it feels like I’m right back where I started. How do you keep your mind from spiraling when you’ve lived through something unimaginable? How do you feel anything but dread when you’re lying facedown in an MRI machine, crossing your fingers and toes for a clear scan? How can you ever move on when you have to keep going back?
I’ll be honest, I am still finding my way here. I’m not sure how to inhabit this space or what to do when things start to get bad. Maybe like all things, it will get easier with time. Or maybe, it won’t. It’s ok to say that this part will always suck because cancer just…sucks. Not every day is a good one and sometimes I just feel angry that this happened to me and my family. It doesn’t feel fair to have this appointment on my calendar, or to have a body covered in scars. I don’t think you always have to look on the bright side to appreciate the light. So tomorrow will be hard, the waiting game will be hard too and I will be holding my breath for a long while, until it’s time to go back to The Other Side. See you there, xx.