love is health
Routine as an act of appreciation10/25/2020 Going out to a restaurant for the first time in 6 months. Giving my sister a hug on her wedding day. Hitting the skate park. Going for a hike. Biking to the mountain. Getting back to a predictable work schedule. Holding my children tightly. Waking up to hands that feel normal, a body that feels strong, and a life that feels familiar, pandemic aside.
It has been a month since completing chemotherapy, and I have wasted no time trying to recreate a sense of normalcy, even if just for a little while. Spontaneous at heart, I used to rebel against anything remotely routine. Yet for this month, all I have wanted and worked toward is a pattern of predictability. I know it's ephemeral, which makes me appreciate the routine even more. Everything is about to change yet again. I'm staring at a few months of recovery. Before the end of the year, I will have 2 more surgeries aimed at preventing recurrent or new tumors. The result of these will be surgical menopause, and the landscape of my chest will change yet again. My Li-Fraumeni Syndrome diagnosis means the likelihood of having another tumor in my lifetime is unfortunately high. So, I'll take the hard steps needed to reduce my risk as much as possible - even if that means giving up my only healthy breast, and young ovaries. I intend to live a long life, albeit in a body that will feel so different come 2021. For us young survivors, cancer treatment ages us far more rapidly. Menopause comes sooner. Joints ache. Chemobrain slows our thinking. Our metabolisms decelerate unpredictably. And in some cases (like mine) our hair turns gray prematurely. Our bodies feel foreign to us. The athletic, energetic, spirited body I once inhabited is softer, slower, and collecting scars. However, I appreciate how this vessel feels right now because I know there is so much to be grateful for. I can still move. I have all my limbs. I can bend over to pick up my youngest child and hold her. My children can fall asleep on my chest. We can still have living room dance parties in our pajamas. I have the privilege of mobility, of having all my five senses - of being in a body that tolerates change well, recovers fast, and is tenacious down to its core. So I enjoy what I can, when I can. Last night that meant shaking my ass to Baby Got Back next to my mom on the dance floor of my sister's wedding. Tomorrow, and for the next week, it will mean embracing a routine until surgery day. It will be here sooner than I know.
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