Updated: April 18, 2023
Originally Published: April 18, 2023
During one of my many visits to the oncologist, my doctor reassured me that one day I would look back on this chapter of my life and it would feel distant, almost like a dream. I chuckled—an ironic, sad chuckle. How could I ever forget?
As time passes, I’ve found it easier to envision. There are moments when the heaviness of my grief feels like a distant memory. Was it truly as deep as I recall? Did I really struggle so much to breathe? Yes, I did.
My scars tell the brief version of my journey. Five marks outline my story. A small one just beneath my left collarbone, the port scar, where chemotherapy entered my body. It lay there for 361 days, a reminder just beneath the surface. Then there are two crescent-shaped scars beneath where my breasts once were, and two more small lines beneath each armpit from where the drainage tubes were inserted after surgery. Five marks.
There are days I vividly remember the dread of every doctor’s appointment. I even canceled my kids’ dentist appointments because I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting rooms. Every three months, I return to the cancer center for a shot that suppresses my ovaries, my heart racing and my stomach churning in anticipation. I take a daily pill that blocks estrogen, waking up drenched in sweat at night. I sometimes long for the way my body used to feel—whole and uncomplicated. Those memories linger.
Yet, there are also days when I forget I’m a cancer survivor. I find myself pushing a red shopping cart at Target, sipping coffee, and getting frustrated by traffic jams and lengthy meetings. Some days, I’m short-tempered with my kids, annoyed by the scattered Legos on the floor, and questioning the whereabouts of mismatched socks. There are days when I forget.
And then, just like that, I catch my breath and remind myself how I prayed for days like this. I yearned for the ordinary moments that now feel extraordinary.
Sometimes, chills wash over me—like the scent of coconut shampoo in my 7-year-old’s hair as I read him a story, or the gentle squeeze of my 4-year-old’s hand while crossing the street. I revel in the sound of rain against the window or the sight of my husband asleep under the moonlight. I am present. I am still here.
And I realize I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to distance myself from my five scars or the memories of my profound sorrow. I’ve plunged deep into my struggles and soared high with my joys.
This week, my son, Lucas, showcased his artwork at a mall exhibit. As he excitedly pointed out the details, my heart swelled. What if I had missed this? We celebrated with ice cream, gazing up at the sky, appreciating the clouds. This ordinary, extraordinary life felt like heaven.
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Summary
This reflective piece explores the journey of a cancer survivor who grapples with memories of pain and joy. The author emphasizes the importance of cherishing ordinary moments and acknowledges the scars—both physical and emotional—that shape her experience. Through her story, she finds strength in remembering her past while embracing the present.