15 Year Diagnosis Day

 

Fifteen years. Can you believe it? I definitely can't. 

So much has happened, so much has changed. What if I never had a brain tumor? Instead, it was a baby. I used to refer to Herman as my tumor baby because he has taken so much of my time and effort; I lost my identity and gained a new one, much like a mother. 

Fifteen years is such a long time to navigate a cancer that never goes away. I've never lived without a tumor, not since we found him. It's exhausting, and rewarding all at the same time.

When you get a life-altering diagnosis like this, never knowing how each day will progress, it's impossible to plan. It's scary and hard to live a full life, well, at least it has been for me. I've tried to reframe things along the way, always working to create a positive spin when I get afraid or sad, or lose another friend or get bad news about my health. It became a muscle for me, and it's been one of the most beautiful things I've been able to cultivate. It's something that I'm grateful for every day. 

Fifteen years. I wish I could celebrate with Udzi and Leor. I wish I could celebrate with Crush. I wish I could celebrate with Jessica. I wish I could celebrate with Marly. It feels like a momentous birthday, but no one is showing up to the party. 

Fifteen years. I should feel better than this. I shouldn't be crying sad tears. 

Living with cancer creates all the flavors of grief. They hit throughout each day, coming in waves. Some smell like freshly baked bread, or warm cookies, others hit like a hot, humid day with week-old trash. Pungent. Invoking an impossible desire to vomit. 

Fifteen years creates trillions of feelings, reflecting is hitting all at once. 

Thank you for following me along this journey. For being here in this moment in time few thought I would see.