A Year Today

One year ago, I sat in a doctor's surgery on an ordinary Friday afternoon and was told I had cancer. Today, I went bikini shopping, drank coffee, sat in the sun, spent time with my family and breathed in deeply the simple things that make me happy.

A year on, there are still not many days that pass without thoughts of cancer. That's not to say I'm consumed by it. But it's there. And it shows up in a whole plethora of ways.

Some days it's lighthearted. It's putting on a g-string and laughing at the multiple times I tried to stick a sanitary pad to my undies with nurses looking on. It's a compliment on my hair growth that has me taken back to wig shopping and eating doughnuts, bald on my 31st birthday. Sometimes it's listening to a podcast about gratitude and bawling my eyes out with happiness that I'm alive.

Other days it's watching my pregnant friends and finding myself angry that my body will never be able to simply do what it's designed to do. It's watching somebody hobble around and being transported back to crying out in pain after surgery.

Many, many days it's feeling a twinge or pain and believing in every fibre of my being that I have cancer again. It's walking back into the outpatient department of the hospital for checkups. It's watching my cancer community on Instagram relapse. It's taking time off work for oncology appointments and feeling a terror wash over me as I wonder if I'll be next. A few days ago a physiotherapist did an ultrasound on my wrist and I watched his eyes, certain he was about to turn to me and trigger the cancer rollercoaster all over again.

Most days it's with me. And I'm ok with that. Because not only did the trauma damage me, but it made me more grateful than I ever thought possible.

So today I went bikini shopping, drank coffee, sat in the sun, spent time with my family and thanked my lucky stars that I was here to do it. Here's to a cancer-free check-up next month and many more after that.