Invisible Wounds

It's been a while since I blogged or gave an update. I've been surprised to find my reaction to the end of this journey to be avoidance rather than rejoicing.

My final chemo treatment was administered on July 31st and I found myself ringing the bell in proclamation. I gave one ring for each treatment and with each peal memories flooded back. "You'll never make it," had reverberated through my head on so many occasions yet here I was signalling the end of treatment. Cheers of celebration started behind me but inside I was overwhelmed with thankfulness, surprise, grief, anger and fear.

As my husband put away the camera I burst into tears and cried the entire way out of the hospital. The entire way home to be honest. Actually, I pretty much cried the rest of the day. When I woke up the next day I suddenly wanted nothing to do with the journey I had just been on. I packed up my family to go camping (because that's what any sane person does less than 48 hours after having a chemo treatment) and pretended like everything was fine. I celebrated the end of chemo with dear family and my happiness was real. But inside a nagging voice was clawing at my mind. "How do I live now?" "What if it comes back?" "Can we PLEASE forget this ever happened?"

As the weeks have passed I've poured myself into spending every ounce of returning energy that I have. We've camped three times in the last six weeks and have hiked the same amount. I've spent a huge amount of time planning my girls' school year schedules as I prepare to homeschool a preschooler and grade 1 student. Today I'm potty training the youngest and in between there I've been trying to shove in all the things I wanted to do while I was sick and couldn't (i.e. baking, playdates, etc.) When people have asked how I'm doing with life going back to normal I don't know what to say. Truthfully, it's nice but it's also not normal. Nothing is when you've fought cancer and are waiting to find out if the treatment "worked."

So what comes next? My port was removed in August and is healing nicely. I'm told I will have a final follow-up with my oncologist in October after which I will be released from their care. I will then have ongoing appointments with two separate family doctors (one who specializes in breast cancer) every 2 months. My reconstructive surgery which had been postponed by my diagnosis will likely take place in November or December. Other than that life goes back to normal...

or does it?

I've been warned that it will take my body approximately two months to heal for every treatment I under went so I will likely not return to my full energy or health status for about 16 months. I've been told that the body will begin to realize it is no longer fighting and an adrenaline drop will start. At that point it is common for invisible wounds like PTSD to rear their ugly heads. I've begun grief work with my counselor as the healing process is bringing up all kinds of things that I couldn't deal with during the fight. While my hair may be growing back and my skin is no longer the colour of paste there are gaping wounds beneath the surface that I feel too weak to tend to.

While meeting with my counselor she reminded me that a bomb-out zone never looks the same afterwards. Sure, the grass may grow back and it may regain some normality but the ground itself will be forever changed. Her words were, "But that's good because it means God did something huge there."

Over the last few weeks I've been intentionally seeking to live every day focused on "Lord, you've put breath in my lungs today. What would YOU like me to do with it?"

God has done something huge in my life through cancer and continues to use it to grow me and impact others. I've been trying not to look at the ground around me but when I do I am reminded that God has done something huge in my life for my good and His glory. The journey isn't over. The healing continues. Yet one thing He has taught me is that He will carry me through.