*Author’s note: This entry was written in December, but I have waited until now to post it out of respect for my friend’s privacy.

Well – goddamn it! I am back at Northeast Georgia Cancer Care today. This time I am here with a dear friend, waiting for her to see the doctor. I am pissed off! I had just taken a breath and here it is again at my door. When she told me, I was in shock – still am. I feel like someone sucker-punched me right in the gut.

We are here because they suspect she has leukemia. So, we start the cancer conveyor belt again. It is hard to watch her being taken to the lab for vitals and blood work. CANCER SUCKS!!!!!! We can send people into space . . . we have technology that was only dreamed of when I was child . . . but we still don’t have a cure for cancer. It is time!

I think I am more nervous today than when I was here as a patient. It is so hard to watch someone you truly love have to face this bullshit. When you are at the Cancer Center, you had better be prepared to wait. I walked down the hall just now; all the rooms are full of patients but I didn’t see any of the doctors.

My friend just said, “Good lord, just give me chemo and let me go home. They make you wait so long you don’t even care anymore.” And of course they are playing the fucking Christmas music again. Pure torture, I tell you. Our appointment was for 9:15. It is 10:30, and we still have not seen the doctor. Whenever I have an appointment, my friend Johnny asks, “Is it the four-hour appointment?” – meaning a Cancer Care appointment.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,” sings Bing Crosby. Right!!!! Then, “Have a holly jolly Christmas this year.” If I had a gun I would blow the damn speakers out of the ceiling. They continue torturing us with the music and all of the room doors decorated with a holiday theme. I guess maybe it is a way to keep your spirits up when you work in a place with so much sadness. As I’ve said before, the people at Cancer Care are wonderful – I just wish there was no reason for a place like this to exist.

We finally see the doctor, and she is wonderful. She is very kind and answers all our questions. The doctor suspects Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL). We will wait for the results of one final blood test for confirmation and to determine staging and treatment. One day at a time – we will not get the results until the 30^th. It is hard trying to live with this constantly pressing on my mind.

During my own diagnosis and treatment, this friend was amazing, walking with me every step of the way. I will do the same for her. She is so funny; the day she called to tell me her doctor suspected cancer, she said, “But I am not writing a blog and I am not wearing that wig!” We both laughed, but after we hung up tears streamed from my eyes. I am heartbroken.

My armor is a little too big for her to wear. She is a tiny woman, so I guess we will need it adjusted and sized perfectly so she will be ready to take it into battle. I am so grateful that she showed me by example how to be a kind, loving caregiver. Now that our roles are reversed, I only pray that I can care for her the way she did for me.

So – please keep her in your thoughts and in your hearts. You never know what life has in store for you. Enjoy each moment – tell the people who are important to you that you love them – breathe deeply and calmly and take the next step.

I suppose you remember how last year began: Even before the cancer diagnosis, the year had already started off on the wrong foot. The relationship I was in at the beginning of 2013 quickly turned to hell, and I was still reeling from that when the other shoe dropped. The doctor called and asked, “Is this a good time?” You know most of the rest since you have been following along with me on this journey. But now it is time for me to let you know where I am with that broken relationship.

Sometimes it takes the heart and the head a while to get on the same page. But guess what? I think that time has come. It is funny how you can lie to yourself and trick yourself into believing things that aren’t true. I made a mistake – a big one – and I knew it the whole time. I had even discussed this fact with my therapist and my dear friend Kim. But I convinced myself – talked myself into something that I knew was not right for me.

There are a few lines in the song, “Somebody That I Used to Know” by Gotye that I love.

“Told myself that you were right for me.
But felt so lonely in your company.”
And
“Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I’d done.”

This is the way I felt from the very beginning. So why did I keep pushing it? I think I truly didn’t think very much of myself. Once the cancer diagnosis came and I realized how precious life is, I started to feel like my life is important and that I need to take care of myself and stop taking care of others. Life is way too short to be with someone who does not value you as a partner or even as a person.

It has been almost a year since this relationship ended and I can say that I was truly lucky to get out of it with no more damage than I had. I am looking to 2014 as a year of renewed personal growth and a year of continuing this journey to my new self. If that journey happens to include someone special that will be great, but if not, I am okay with that also. I really am starting to enjoy my own company!

Wow – another Christmas come and gone. It’s hard to believe the difference in my life from last Christmas to this one. It almost seems that I have lived a whole lifetime in this very short period of time. At times the ups and downs of the year seemed never-ending. As this year draws to a close, I look back over it with extreme gratitude.

As you recall, 2013 did not start out as my year, and as the months passed the hits just kept coming. But as I sit here tonight, I realize that it was the year of my new beginning. The year life finally got my attention. Getting kicked in the shin with pointy-toed cowboy boots can be painful, no question. But through the pain my life seemed to blossom.

I have gained so much this year it is hard for me to hold it all inside. I have deepened some relationships and I have formed wonderful new friendships. I have met people I would never have met had it not been for this journey through breast cancer. I have learned the meaning of true friendship and unconditional love. I have watched as people helped and supported me when I was too sick to even stand up. I have met people who were fighting their battle at the same time I was fighting mine. Those people have made such a tremendous difference in my life; to know them and hear their stories helped me more than they will ever know.

Last Saturday I received a wonderful gift. I was doing some Christmas shopping with Lorene when I heard someone call my name. I stopped and turned around, and there stood Mary Ann. We were always together in the same room during chemo, and she was always so supportive and so encouraging. It was so good to see her standing there in the middle of the store. We had a wonderful time updating each other on our progress. I cannot tell you how many times I have thought of her since finishing chemo. We both have a little bit of hair now and she wasn’t wearing her cap, so when I first saw her I recognized her face but the hair kind of threw me. You sit there and battle right beside these people, but after you’re done you have no idea how their battle turned out. So to see her well and healthy right before Christmas was truly a welcome surprise.

It is amazing how people appear in our lives at just the right moments. That happened so many times for me this year that I believe it has to be more than just pure chance. I got to know Janet at just the right time – she was there when I needed someone not only to listen, but also to kick me in the ass. Kim rescued me when my heart was broken and rescued my goats when the dogs attacked them. Mary Ann, Regina, and Beth all appeared exactly when I needed them most and helped me get through treatment. Beth and Diane have continued to encourage me to keep writing and assure me that I do have something to say.

My sister Martha Gail called every single day during my treatment, and just knowing she was supporting me meant the world to me. I had friends and family who had walked this path before me and their willingness to share their stories with me inspired me to keep fighting. Thanks, Sandy, Mary Dee, and Nancy Pat.

Lorene, Sylvia, and Cheryl proved to me over and over again what true love really is. These three are all exes of mine, but in reality these relationships never ended. They cooked, cleaned, and cared for me like the relationships had never changed. We all sat together the night before my lumpectomy and they reassured me that what was important was that I get better. I started to cry that night when I tried to tell them how much they meant to me. I am teary-eyed trying to write about their love and kindness even now. I hope they know. I hope all of you know.

I named just a few people but there are many more I did not name here. Please know that your encouragement, support, love, and kindness made 2013 the year this warrior battled her way into a new life.

Author’s note: I guess you noticed that this post is dated August 2013 and here it is January 2014–so what gives? When I first wrote this post, I was so upset that I didn’t want anyone to see it. People from work read this blog and I didn’t want them to know how disappointed I was with this wig.  I hope you will be able to laugh, because I am able to laugh about it now myself.

OMFG!!!!! Sylvia rode with me to Marietta today to pick up my hair (the dreadlock wig). It is horrible. I cannot believe it. It is hard for me to believe that anyone can think that thing looks good. I am so disappointed – all my long, beautiful hair wasted. I could have given my hair to Locks of Love. That is what I was going to do until I had the great idea to ask my friend about a dreadlock wig. She assured me that she could make one for me. Well, she made a wig all right – but I ain’t wearing it.

My friend told me she wore it last night and everyone said she looked like Bob Marley. Well, that might be okay for her because she is a beautiful black woman. Bob Marley is not the look this redneck country girl was looking for. What makes all this even worse is that my co-workers told my friend they would pay for it.

Now I have this thing living in the spare bedroom and I need to figure out what I am going to do. I will not be caught dead in it. I can’t wear it to work, so how am I going to explain that? And what do I say to my friend? Something like, “What did you do to my fucking hair?!”

Sylvia and Lorene are in total disbelief. Sylvia can’t believe anyone would think this wig looks good. Lorene thinks it looks like some of the critters I have stored in my freezer. Remember, I am a biologist, so I have a frozen collection of various small animals presented to me by my cats and dogs. It is funny how proud they are when they bring me some dead thing and drop it at my feet. And I – well, I could just cry. It is such a letdown. I felt so brave when I had my head shaved before chemo made all my hair fall out. I still feel good about that part, but the final result is so hard to take.

I will probably give the wig back to my friend. Maybe someone else will be able to enjoy it or use it in some way. I would have preferred to pay for the wig myself instead of having others pay for it. If I had paid for it, it would already be in the trash.

Sylvia, Lorene, and I have all laughed and made fun of the situation, but deep down inside I am hurt, sad, and very disappointed. I have looked so forward to getting this wig and now . . . not so much. Damn, there is the pointy-toed cowboy boot again.

Back at Northeast Georgia Cancer Care for a follow-up appointment with Dr. Nick. I can’t help it – I still get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I turn into the parking lot. I love the people here. Both receptionists greeted me and said, “It’s been a long time. How’ve you been?” One commented that I might need a comb soon. So it’s not the people or the building; I think it’s the fear of one day being back here for treatment. I am not going to live my life in fear, but I’m not going to lie: It is still in my mind.

The waiting room is fairly empty today but the parking lot is full, which means a lot of people are back in the treatment area getting chemo. It is so unreal being here and hearing Christmas music piped in. In fact, it is freaking me out to hear, “As the merry bells keep ringing . . . Happy Holidays to you!” Really???? I don’t know that I have ever really heard the music playing in here before, but today it is all I hear.

So now I’m thinking about the holidays and the meaning behind this time of year. I am grateful that I am cancer free and able to be healthy now. And then there is that music again. “Simply having a wonderful Christmas time . . . ” Thank God – Dr. Nick finally makes it to the exam room and I no longer hear the music.

Everything looks good. White blood cell count is still low but doesn’t concern him. I should just continue with all my follow-up appointments and mammograms. I will see him every six months for the next three years, then annually for the remaining seven. Then he looks at me and says, “Unless, God forbid, it comes back.” Yeah, exactly. God forbid.

I leave Cancer Care and head to Ike and Jane’s to meet Beth for lunch. We both had follow-up appointments today and it was a real treat to get to see her. It feels good to know that we will continue to support each other. I can look at her and say, “I am still scared,” and she knows exactly what I mean. She does not say, “You just need to be grateful,” or “It is not going to come back,” or anything else. She just understands, and that is comforting.

This year has been a tough one for me but it is drawing to a close. I am looking forward to a new year and am excited about the possibilities. I have learned so much this year, and I thank you for letting me share this journey with you. You watched me don my armor and battle; then you picked me up, repaired my armor, and gave me the strength to keep fighting.

I know I have said this before, but it bears repeating. I would not wish this disease on anyone, but it has been a true blessing for me. I have learned lessons that only an experience like this can teach you. I have gained friends I never would have known. This experience has already taken me to places I have never been before, and I believe this is just the beginning.

All of you are amazing – your support has been unending. Thank you for giving me wings to fly! Love you all!

Well, yesterday was like a dream but today I was snapped back into reality. The alarm on my phone reminded me of my appointment with my surgeon. It is just a follow-up, but still a jolt to my system. When I look back over these last few days, I feel like I have come full circle. Yesterday I had the amazing experience of celebrating being cancer-free with my wonderful friends and family. And today I’m back at the surgeon’s, where this journey began. While I was sitting in the reception area waiting to be called back to see the doctor, a woman walked in and she was bald. I waited for her to sit down, then said, “How are you today?” She responded, “Okay.” I asked if she was getting chemo and who her oncologist was. Just as we started to chat the nurse called my name. As I was walking away the warrior asked, “How long did it take for your hair to come back?”  “This is three months’ worth,” I said, rubbing my fuzzy head. Once I was in the room waiting for the doctor, I realized that this was the exact same question I asked a women at Cancer Care when I was bald. She had more hair than I do now and wore it in a very cute style. She told me it had taken six months to get that much hair. It is funny how this experience has changed me. Once I was the one with all the questions. Now I’m the one with some of the answers. This is the room I was in with Lorene and Dad when I first went to see the surgeon, when I made the decision to have a lumpectomy instead of a mastectomy. I look at the art on the wall in the room – it still brings as much comfort now as it did then, but now I have lived it. The art is by The Cap Man, a local Athens folk artist. It is a painting of a flower accompanied by the words: “And when you come to the edge of all the light you know and are about to step out into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen. You will have something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly.” This journey has taken me to the edge of the unknown; in some ways I am still on the edge. But then, I guess, we are all really at the edge of the unknown. For me, this journey has been about finding my faith. In this blog I have talked a lot about faith as I have tried to find my way. This experience has truly taught me that to fly, to be bold, to be authentic,  to be me – all of this takes faith. This experience has changed me; I am stronger, more courageous, and more willing to take a chance than ever before. As far as I know, we only live once in our present body. So it is vital for me to make the most of this beautiful gift I have been given.

Today I am back at radiation oncology for my follow-up with Dr. Terry. While I am waiting I take out my phone and start writing. I feel like my friends and some of you who read the blog may think, Okay, she’s done with treatment–she should be back to normal. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I spend most of my time just trying to get through each day. By the end of the week, I am completely exhausted and my body just needs rest. I have been dealing with this sort of tiredness and exhaustion for several months. I am trying to be patient with myself, but it is hard.

The physical exhaustion is not new; it is the mental and emotional problems that are becoming difficult for me. I thought “chemo brain” would go away once I stopped the treatment, but it seems worse now than ever. It is very scary for me. Sometimes I feel that I might be going insane.

At work, I will head down the hall to speak with someone and before I get to my destination I forget who I was going to see. I stand in the hallway trying to remember, but it doesn’t come back. I do this several times every day. Maybe this is caused my complete exhaustion or by the side effects of the meds I am taking. I’m not sure, but I don’t like it at all.

My brain feels fuzzy most of the time and my emotions are totally out of control. I reached out to my friend from radiation, Beth, because I needed some support. I sent her emails and we talked on the phone. I told her that I thought I was losing my mind. She assured me that I wasn’t, because if that was true, we both were. It was comforting to hear that she was feeling some of the same things.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to explain how special it is to have her to talk to and compare our journeys. I feel so blessed to have her in my life and so thankful for our beautiful friendship.

After seeing Dr. Terry and getting the thumbs up, I decided to take a walk in the park. It was a wonderful sunny day but a bit on the chilly side. The leaves were changing into those beautiful orange, gold, and yellow colors. I took some photos and before leaving the park, I headed over to that huge oak tree. I just wanted to put my hands on it one more time. I whispered to it that I would be back to visit, and thanked it and the park for taking such good care of me.

I needed to stop at WalMart on the way home, and once again I was overwhelmed to discover, just by being present in the moment, what amazing experiences I can have. I was in the grocery section at the end of an aisle. As I turned the corner, I looked up and saw an older couple facing me. I mainly noticed the gentleman and I said hello and asked how they were doing. He said, “Blessed.” I responded by saying I thought that was wonderful.

I met them again on the next aisle and that’s when I noticed the woman. Her hair was just a little longer than mine and our eyes met. I began, “I don’t mean to be rude, but did you . . . ?” Before I even finished my sentence she said yes, and I pointed to my head and said, “Me too.”

I stopped and we talked for several minutes. We exchanged stories and talked about our lives since treatment. She has had lots of memory problems as well as some physical side effects. These two people did not stop smiling the whole time we were talking. Before I walked away, I hugged both of them. It was an awesome experience and I was so glad I took the time to share it with them.

My life continues to amaze me. This year has been like no other. The relationship issues that happened in the first part of this year seem so insignificant now. One person treated me horribly, but throughout this year I have seen over and over again the innate goodness of people. I am so glad I did not let that experience harden me – if I had, I would have missed so much kindness this year.

I have to tell you about an amazing thing that happened to me this week. I shop at Publix on the east side of town and I usually hit the store once or twice a week. The staff seems to have a very low turnover rate and most of the same friendly people have been there since it opened several years ago. Since Athens isn’t a huge town, I guess the employees recognize some of the regular shoppers. And of course, you know me – I always have to smile and speak to each one of them I see while shopping and checking out.

When I felt up to it during chemo and radiation, I kept to my usual routines. So I still stopped at the store on the way home from work or a doctor’s appointment – but now sporting a bald head. One day I went to Publix wearing a baseball cap; strangely, I felt more self-conscious wearing the hat than just going in there with my baldness. I don’t know – maybe the baldness gave me more courage. I know it definitely made the cancer more real to me.

So this Monday I made my Publix run on the way home from work. My hair is coming back in at a rather surprising rate, so I am wearing it spiked up like a flat-top. I like it and most of my friends seem to like it. I finished my shopping and made it to the checkout. I recognized the clerk and we exchanged greetings. While she was ringing up my groceries, she looked at me and said, “Your hair is coming back in fast.”

I was a little surprised that someone I don’t really know would even notice. She asked how I was feeling and if I was finished with treatment. She also wanted to know if I had worn a bandana over my head when I was shopping; I told her, “No, I just sported the bald head.” She responded, “I thought that was you.” She told me how brave and courageous she thought I was. Her mother died of breast cancer and the loss of her hair was a very traumatic experience for her mother. The clerk told me she’d had a double mastectomy because she feared the breast cancer that killed her mother might be genetic.

After she rang up my last item she said, “I have to give you a hug.” We hugged and as I turned to walk away she said, “You might not realize it, but every time you were in here you had a smile on your face.” You will never know how that exchange made me feel. A complete stranger noticing me, supporting me, and encouraging me.

We never know from moment to moment how our behavior affects the people we come into contact with every day. Just smiling and speaking to people as I shop for groceries makes a difference. I try to really look at everyone I meet – to look them in the eye, acknowledge their humanity, and say hello. We are all the same: rich, poor, black, white, brown, republican, democrat, conservative, liberal, straight, gay, bi or trans. We are the same. We long to be connected in this crazy world that forces us to be different by giving us labels. I long to drop these labels and just see others as my human family, each one of us struggling with our demons and striving to make our way.

We all have our stories to tell. I am learning that by being willing to tell mine, others are willing to share their stories with me. That is a true treasure – a cherished treasure. Thank you, my friends.

I don’t hate many things but I do hate cancer. I am back at Cancer Care for an appointment with my survivorship counselor. It is crazy, but this last year still seems like a dream, almost like this has happened to someone else. And maybe it has, because I am definitely not the person who started this journey.

As soon as I turned into the parking lot at the clinic my stomach dropped. Not really for myself, but it hit me so hard because I am at the end of the treatment part of this journey and so many people are just starting their journey. I am amazed every time I go there – the place is always packed. I walked down the chemo hallway and saw everyone hooked up and getting the poison that will hopefully kill the cancer. And my heart hurt for each one of them.

I asked my counselor when someone is considered a survivor. Her response was, as soon as you are diagnosed.  She said, “Today you are cancer free and at 10 years you are considered to be cured.” So cancer free – YES – it makes me smile just to say it. I will have follow-up appointments over the next 10 years at Cancer Care; I will have mammograms every six months and my other annual exams. So I am just taking each step as it comes and continuing to walk down this new path.

Several people have commented to me over the last few days about this blog and my writing. I have been encouraged to keep writing and also to keep everyone updated through my writing. I will continue to update this blog occasionally. I also hope to start another blog soon – if my good friend, Diane, is still willing to help me. [Editor’s note: I am more than willing!]

I also want to update you on the little dog I found when I was walking in the park. The owner is letting me keep him. I have fallen hard for my little Freddie the Freeloader. His hair is coming back in and he looks so much better. I think he feels safe and comfortable here and that makes me happy.

I don’t think any of you know how important this blog has been to me. It was a way to survive when my world seemed so bleak. But it has been your kindness, encouragement, and support that have truly helped me make it to this point. I have tears in my eyes but a glow in my heart as I write these words. I have opened myself up to you and you have loved and accepted me, and for that I will be forever grateful. The warrior has returned – ready to face whatever lies ahead.

I thought after I finished treatment this blog would come to an end, but for me that is not the case. I do have good news to report: My first post-surgery mammogram was clear. This mammogram was only of my left breast; I will go back in six months for a bilateral mammogram. Of course, in between I will have follow-up appointments with my surgeon, medical oncologist, and radiation oncologist. So this is still very much a part of my life. I have had excellent care since the beginning of this process and it feels good to know the team is there to keep a check on me.

I want to make it clear to everyone that I am overjoyed to have completed treatment and to have had such wonderful news. I feel truly blessed and I am extremely grateful. But since this is a blog about the journey following my breast cancer diagnosis, I want to continue the blog as I continue this part of the journey. As I work through so many feelings, I just want to assure you that I am okay, and just trying to find my way.

So what am I feeling now? It feels like I just don’t fit in my skin anymore. Like a lizard or a snake, I feel the need to shed this skin. I really can’t put these feelings into words; it’s just an unsettledness. I have spent all of this year trying to get to this point – finished with chemo and treatment. Now what??? I know – Live. It is just figuring this part out that is causing me some difficulty.

This may sound dramatic, but today I thought, If you were in a plane crash and by some miracle you survived, would you be the same? Or would that experience affect you for the rest of your life? In my case, I have survived, but this experience has changed me in so many ways. Has it made me more fearful? I don’t think so. Has it proved to me that I am a fighter? Yes. Has it proved to me that I am loved? You better believe it.

It has also shown me that life is short and helped me begin trying to define how I want to live the rest of my life. It would be so easy to slip back into that person – that skin – I was before. Unaware, self-consumed, and living just to get by. I fear it, actually. Change is hard, but change I must.

I want to share a quote I found today because it speaks volumes to me at this point in my life:

“Choice”

“Chance”

“Change”

You Must Make A “Choice”

To Take A “Chance”

Or

Your Life Will Never “Change.”

I was talking to my dear friend Beth on the phone last week, and she mentioned how my journey has been a yearlong process that has followed almost a seasonal path. It is fall; the leaves are changing colors and the trees will soon drop their leaves. That is the point I am at also: a turning over, a renewal. Soon it will be a new calendar year and a new year for me–a year that will start me on my new path, although I have no idea what that path will be. Life is a mystery, and I just have to show up. My goal is to show up with the willingness and openness and faith to pursue this mystery.

I hope you will bear with me while I try to come to grips with all my feelings. I think this is just part of the process. I still feel a little shaky, the way you feel the first time you put on a pair of roller skates. Scared to stand up and roll into the rink, still wanting to hold onto the handrail for a while. Eventually, courage comes; you let go and walk for a few steps, then fall, but before long you’re skating forward, backward, crossing over on the curves. You still fall every now and then, but now you know you can skate, so you just jump up and off you go again.

I learned to skate by watching others and getting the courage to let go and skate. So that is what I’m doing now: watching and learning how I want to live my life. At some point, I hope others may be able to look at me and find the courage they need to take those first steps and skate.

Thanks to all of you for giving me the courage I will need for the next part of my recovery. Love you all.