Two Years Out

This past Sunday marked two years since my last day of treatment. Two whole years! It's so long, but it's so short. I remember everything, but everything's a blur.

Early in my treatment, my mother, a breast cancer survivor herself, promised me that the day would come when I would no longer spend every waking moment thinking about cancer. At the time, it was very hard to imagine that day. But she was right - I can go for weeks now without giving it a thought. Life does indeed move on, and the enormous mental, emotional, physical, and logistical space that my treatment took up has quickly refilled with my family, my career, and my interests.

But October will always be my own personal Breast Cancer Awareness Month, even if it wasn't for the rest of the world. The change in the air that happens in LA this month, the chill in the mornings and the low slant of the setting sun in the evenings, will always bring back memories of the end of my treatment. I wept off and on all day that day, overwhelmed by an emotion I could not name. I felt very strongly that I had reached a point of inflection in my life, the point when cancer was no longer something that had happened to me - I had happened to cancer, and I was now walking away from it.

I've walked a long way in these two years, but I also know that I will always be able to see my illness if I look behind me, however far it recedes into the distance. I also know that it may be waiting to reunite with me on the road ahead, far out on the horizon, or just around the next turn. Perhaps the most indelible effect of my treatment is the loss of the illusion that a long life is a given. I will never get it back - but after all, it was always an illusion. I think I have a much better feel for what is real now, for what is true and precious. Happy two years out to me!