Five years after

When I turned fifty I was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer.   Over the course of a year I was immersed in treatment.   Surgery, chemotherapy, X-rays and CT scans to see how far it had spread.   And always blood work.  I've probably given enough blood samples to sate Count Dracula.   That was five years ago.   Early in 2014 I had a recurrence of my cancer, which surgery has hopefully fixed.  In October I celebrated my fifty-fifth birthday.  Five years since my up-close and very personal encounter with Cancer.

Since my treatment ended in 2011 I kept up with the required tests:  blood work, CT scans and the always fun Colonoscopy.     It was a colonoscopy in February of 2014 that found a polyp.   This same colonoscopy  showed cancer has returned to the original site.  When I received the news I thought I would have to do it all over again:  the surgery,  the chemotherapy, the return to living only for today.   Fortunately  surgery  has proved sufficient.   I would be off for five weeks to recover before I returned to work full-time once more.  I had once again "beaten" cancer, so I should be happy.  But I wasn't.

It dawned on me that you simply don't cure cancer.  Certainly you can make it go away, eradicate it's effects for a time.  But you don't cure it.  It came uninvited into my life on two separate occasions.   Despite medical diligence it surprised both myself and my doctors with its return.   This has caused me to wonder what will happen next.

What happened next was simple:  life went on.   I returned to work after this latest surgery,  fortunately without any complications.  My biggest fear during the weeks before surgery would be that I would need  a Colostomy bag.  This time it wasn't needed.  But it made me wonder if I have the emotional strength to keep adapting to radical changes in my physical health and my  self perception.  I may be resilient and even adaptable, but I know that won't always be the case.

In time I healed.  Once more I returned to work.   The memories of my fears before surgery faded.  Seasons changed, the Fall arrived, and with it my birthday.  I would turn fifty-five in 2014.  In the  five years since my initial diagnosis  I've had my share of  adventures,  of fears and of triumphs.   The new year will bring more tests, and I'll worry when I need to worry.  Until then, just like everyone else, I'll live my life, one day at a time.