No one ever tells you that remission is the hardest part of cancer.
I've been putting off saying anything publicly. But as I sit here after crying for the past half hour, my eyes swollen and so blurry I can barely read what I'm typing, I realize it's time for me to post about it.
My last chemotherapy session was just over 17 months ago. Looking back, I had a fairly easy chemo experience, at least compared to what others go through. I was rarely sick, and although I had lost all my hair, it didn't take much to transform myself into a somewhat normal looking human being.
As I walked out of the treatment center for the last time, I thought I had left cancer in the dust. I was healthy and ready to get back to my normal life.
No one ever told me that there would be no "normal" after cancer.
The first struggle I had during remission was my frustration with my hair growth, or lack thereof. I hated that I still looked sick even though I felt completely fine. I invested in a couple very nice, custom wigs, and while they looked incredible, it still wasn't the same. I was constantly touching the lace to make sure the wig hadn't slipped and was exposing my natural hairline or the cap underneath. I took forever during each trip to the bathroom, because I was re-pinning the sides to make sure it didn't move.
I remember one time I was with a singer friend of mine after one of his shows. I was wearing my wig with a Seahawks stocking cap over the top, because it was January in Chicago. At one point in our conversation, Tyler, being an avid fan of Seattle's rival team, jokingly said "Erin, I hate that fucking hat" and reached over to rip my stocking cap off my head. I panicked, thinking he might accidentally take my wig off with it. I latched onto that thing with both hands, and would't let him take it.
I'll never forget the looks on the faces of my friends. From the girls, a look of panic. They knew about the wig and what could have happened. Tyler's look was one of confusion, probably wondering why I was so possessive over that damn hat. He still doesn't know that I had cancer or that I wore a wig. I never told him, because I never wanted to get that look of pity from him, the one that flashes across everyone's face when they find out.
The pity look is the worst. That look crushes me. I don't like people feeling sorry for me or looking at me like I'm broken. I got so sick of seeing that look cross peoples' faces when they were talking to me, and that's part of the reason I immediately put on this facade and act like I'm strong. I want to wash the look of pity off their face, and pretending that I'm fine and that everything is rainbows and unicorns usually does the trick.
Everything is far from rainbows and unicorns, though. I've been in remission for 17 months, and I still can't escape cancer.
It stares back at me every time I look in the mirror. It's in my ugly, thin hair that won't grow and still randomly falls out. It's in my thin eyebrows that I still have to pencil in every day. It's in the fifty extra pounds that I put on during chemo that I still haven't lost. It's in the huge scar on my chest where my port was and in the dark marks on my arm where they're scarred from the Bleomycin.
I still feel it, too. I feel it when the insomnia is still so bad, even Ambien can't knock me out. I feel it when my legs swell up and my feet ache. I feel it in my hips, when they're stiff and pop and feel like they belong to an elderly woman. I feel it when I itch so bad, I make myself bleed from scratching. The one place I can't feel it is in my toes, because those are still numb from the neuropathy.
And I'm always in constant fear that the cancer will come back. I don't think that fear will ever go away, either. So many people I met are relapsing, and I can't help but wonder if my time is coming. Especially with having had NLPHL, which has a really high relapse rate. I think about it constantly, and it's made it really hard to move on with the rest of my life. Like, how am I supposed to date, fall in love, get married if I'm a ticking time bomb? How do I burden someone else with that?
Ugh, dating. That's a whole issue in itself. It's been impossible. I've been on one date since I've been in remission. ONE. And it was over a year ago. As soon as I told that guy that I was a recent cancer survivor, he quit talking to me. That was a huge blow to my already-low self esteem. I don't know how to date after having cancer. I also don't know when to tell guys that I had cancer. If I tell them too soon, they'll get freaked out and leave. If I wait too long, they'll think I'm hiding it. I worry that once they find out, they'll bail like that first guy. Because who would want to date me when they could pick someone else who doesn't have all this shit going on? I feel like my online dating profile should read "Fat girl with shitty hair who may not be able to have kids looking for single, decent guy who doesn't mind a little baggage."
I know what you're thinking - I need to work on me before I worry about someone else. But how do I work on me when I don't even know who I am anymore? I'm not the same Erin I was before I was diagnosed. I feel like a completely different person. Erin died when she was diagnosed with cancer two years ago, and I'm this new, weird, reborn Erin who has no idea how to function.
I just want to be me again.
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It's taken about 3 times longer than it should have to get this far, because I keep taking breaks to cry. I haven't felt this upset about everything in a long time. I'm not depressed, and no one has to worry about my mental health or anything. Everyone has their struggles in life, whether it's their job, money, relationship. This just happens to be my struggle. I'm not usually one to air all my dirty laundry, but I don't feel like I have anyone in my life that I can talk to that would understand. Friends and family can be supportive, but no one can truly understand the post-cancer battle unless you've personally been through it. Keeping my feelings bottled up clearly wasn't working, so this was at least a way to get things off my chest.
I know that there are other cancer survivors out there who are going through similar problems. So if you're reading this, know that you're not alone.
How are you now?
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