Sweetest Words

Wednesday was by far the biggest day that I’ve had since I met my oncologist 6 years ago.

When I first walked in I was a little nervous. This was not already scheduled and I had not seen her since my latest diagnosis. 

 Now, just a little backstory, I have been diagnosed 3 times with cancer. This latest time was found during routine scans. When I got the call and was told cancer was found again, I was FLOORED. I mean, who expects to get that phone call when you are 5 years in the clear? Literally, several weeks prior, I received my very first mammogram results that said no evidence of cancer. I was so happy, I cried when I read it because I had never heard that before. To hold that piece of paper meant a great deal. I called family, I even posted the good news on facebook, LOL I still have that letter. 

2 weeks later, I get a phone call 2 set up a biopsy.

1 week after that, I get another phone call...cancer. 

Now, I am two months out from my latest 2 surgeries and still dealing with a lot of continued pain.

Okay, cut back to this past Wednesday.  I walk into my oncologist’s office, and speak to patients waiting to be seen, catch up with the staff that I haven’t seen in awhile and prepare myself for what may happen. It doesn’t matter how much I love the people there or how far out from chemo I am, there’s something about knowing why you’re there and who you’re there to see that will always be a bit scary.

 I picked up a magazine and sat down when my husband joined me. I don’t know why I was a little surprised to see him. He doesn’t let me face anything alone. He has been with me through every step of this journey. He lays down beside me, when I am tired, and kicks my butt along if I try to sit too long. That man is a force in my life and I thank God for putting him in my path.

We sat there for a bit working on a puzzle because I was a little anxious. “Angie.” My name is called and after doing the dreaded weight test, it’s time to go back.

We laugh and talk a lot while we wait for my oncologist to come in.  Once she does, there are two back-to-back codes on patients undergoing treatments that pull her away and prolongs my wait in the room. 

When she comes back and checks me over, she looks perplexed, taps her fingers, and then looks at me. 

Everything looks great, I will not have to do chemo for this latest diagnosis. Then says the absolute best thing that I’ve ever heard her say...I think it's time to move you out to a year!! Yes, a year!!

 For 6 years, I have wanted to hear those words. I know it sounds crazy, but in June, she was going to put me to yearly visits, but she held back. A month later I was diagnosed with cancer again. For me, a year means that she is feeling confident that cancer is not a major worry at this time. It means that I have 365 days of living life without another appointment. It means I can stop holding my breath every few months when it’s time for scans, lab work, or an appointment. It means that I am as close to being normal as I was before 2003. No, it’s not perfect, I’ve never been told I was cancer free, never been told that I’m cured, or that I won’t get cancer again. But what I do have is a year. A year to live, enjoy and celebrate. A year FREE from appointments and reminders. A year for me to live not as a cancer patient, but as, well...as me.