Alone among survivors

I recently attended a local American Cancer Society Relay for Life event.  My daughter had joined a team of fellow teenage girls; I thought it was great that they would take this on, so I went to show support (and take pictures of course!) I got to see some of the nurses from my chemo clinic; they had a booth/team there.  I don't think they remembered me, but I stopped to say thanks anyway. Kept thinking it would be nice to have a job that touches people's lives so intimately, profoundly and positively.

I walked around the track, seeing the thousands of lumineria donated in remembrance of friends and loved ones lost to cancer or in support of survivors of this disease that has touched so many.
Listened to personal stories of loss, and of the struggle to make it through treatment over to the other side.  I cried for people I didn't even know...the teenage girl still dealing with the daily pain of missing her dad, the sister of a little girl who has been battling for 3 long years.   An all around moving experience; even the hardest, most cynical hearts would be touched by it.

The last event of the night included a final lap of survivors.  I wanted to be in the group with the purple shirts, celebrating being alive, but instead I was sitting in the bleachers by myself.  As always...on the sidelines afraid of plunging in full force. Started to feel sorry for myself just a little bit.  Why did I have to have vaginal cancer?  A disturbing case with disgusting treatments; something so personal I couldn't share with anyone. I couldn't stand up and talk about surviving. I couldn't even join the massive group of those who had overcome the disease in their own way.  Not for the first time, I wished I had some more socially acceptable type of cancer that one could easily discuss over dinner, or walking around a track with a group of fellow survivors. 

Self pity was short lived.  Hard to feel bad for yourself surrounded by those still fighting, regardless of the type of battle.

A memento I don't have to dust

I have written in the past about wanting to remember what going through a cancer diagnosis and treatment felt like. For some reason I feel obligated to keep it fresh in my memory....mostly because coming out of it alive and well made me so APPRECIATIVE of life.  And of being able to get back to 'normal'.  Thankful for being healthy.  I embraced it even while getting over the harsh impacts of radiation to the pelvis. I was so glad to put it behind me.  Happy to be able to see my daughter grow up, to see my stepkids becoming successful adults and to see their kids grown up, happy to spend time with family and to see things not yet experienced that the world has to offer .  That feeling of being so blessed was almost a narcotic feeling.  Like that warm fuzzy you get from oxycodone.  Who wouldn't want to keep that feeling around, if it were legal and you could still function productively?

Well, I've hit the one year mark a couple months ago and I can feel that warmth starting to seep away.  The routine of every day life is creeping in and taking over.  In a meager effort to ward off the impending (and inevitable?) fading of the memories, I did what any vaginal cancer survivor would do.....I got a tattoo.  Incorporated a dove (sign of peace and of long life) with the teal ribbon. I like it.  Every time I look down at it I will remember that I lived through the challenge.   I'll post a pic once it heals completely.  Oh, and it hurt a lot more than the little radiation tats on my butt :)