As you have probably figured out by now, most of my blogs start with song titles. Though this isn't the actual song title from the musical "Rent" (the song is called Seasons of Love), the lyrics of this song have been running through my head for the last several weeks. Because as the song asks, "How do we measure a year?"
Exactly 1 year ago was my first EVER mammogram. I had no concerns, no family history, no lump. The process was easy-peasy. For a person who is a professional at borrowing trouble, me not worrying is miraculous. Yet, things weren't ok. There was a battle ahead. And it's been hard.
When I hit the 11 month post diagnosis mark I had quite a mental struggle. Truthfully, I was annoyed with myself. I didn't know why I was feeling "off". I have not had many times of feeling sorry for myself during all of this. But I was a little weepy, a lot tired (but that's not unusual for me in my current state). Then I had my surgical follow-up and things got a little clearer. Someone finally told me - "you won't ever be exactly the same as you were before your diagnosis." Whew - that was hard to hear. I cried the whole way home from that appointment - big, ugly tears. I don't like things I can't control (hello type A). I recently attended a training through my new job in which a cancer survivor spoke about the one year mark in recovery bringing with it a sense of mourning. It became so clear to me. I am a different person that I was a year ago. Some of the differences have admittedly been improvements (I am not nearly a stickler about bedtimes and snacking with my kids, for example). But there are other things about the "old Andi" that I miss. I am not nearly as spunky. I have always been the person that looks for the next opportunity and right now I am content in my new job. I think that fireball will return, but for now she's exhausted - and sometimes that makes me a little sad.
It would be really easy to say that May 27, 2020 - May 27, 2021 was the worst year of my life. It has definitely been the most challenging. It was the most emotionally charged and certainly the most exhausting. But an awful lot of good things happened in those 12 months, too. Our family is about to embark on a big move. We both have great jobs in our new home town. I love my new co-workers - they have welcomed me and my recovery hot mess with open arms. We will live next door to our family and are building a brand new house! Would any of this had happened if I had not been diagnosed with cancer? Who knows? So while I mourn some of what I lost, I also celebrate what I have gained in these 525,600 minutes. The daylights, the sunsets, the midnights and cups of coffee. That's how we measure a year in the life. Here's to another Season of Love.
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