Normal

A strange phenomenon seems to have been taking place the past few weeks. For the first time in almost a year, I’m starting to feel normal. My clothes fit just a little bit better, my energy lasts a little bit longer. Even my little brother Zach noticed. “Wow,” he commented at a get-together a few weeks back. “You’re starting to look like a real human being again.” When did this happen?

For a year now, I’ve been a ‘cancer patient.’ Life has revolved around hospital visits and necessary routine and chronic pain and the inability to think about or concentrate on anything else. Suddenly, almost without warning, I’ve been thrust into a new phase. The hospital visits are much less frequent. My energy, while still low, is increasing. The free time that before was spent lying on the couch, too weak to imagine anything else, is suddenly my own again. It’s terrifying! I thought this would be exciting and thrilling and that I’d jump right back into ‘life as normal’ when the opportunity was given. Instead, I find myself questioning every morning whether I should go to the hospital, just to check. Or whether going out is really such a good idea. In the past, I’ve run into situations where my energy suddenly dissipates and I’m far from home, which is a bad combination for me. But I’m reminded by friends that my ability to complain about anything shows that I’m getting healthier, so deal with it!

In a conversation with a friend yesterday, we both commented on this transition. No longer am I just a ‘cancer patient,’ but now a cancer survivor. It’s a very new identity. I’m not quite sure what to do with it at this point. It feels as if I’ve been marooned in Narnia for a year and somehow I just managed to step back through the wardrobe. The world is at it was a year ago, but I’ve changed profoundly. How did those four kids deal with that rift in experience when they came back? I imagine some sort of mourning ritual where pictures of Tumnus the faun and Aslan were enshrined. Lots of candles, I’m sure. In a similar way, the challenge for me becomes contextualizing the past ten months, never an easy task. I’d like it to make sense in the larger picture, but right now it’s too raw, too close to be able to focus on it. And this new identity is too unknown to trust. What does it mean to have survived cancer? Where do you go from here? I keep thinking about one of my favorite quotes from the movie “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” when one of Mr. Wonka’s reluctant guests tries to reverse the group’s forward journey. “Can’t go back,” Wonka shouts. “Have to go forward to go backward. Better to press on.” So press on I shall, as always, into the unknown.