Easing into the shifting sands below

I am progressing through my treatment and have been easing into the current routine. As such, I know in a couple of weeks this routine will change yet again. This experience has been one of literally rolling with the punches and the changes. I am thankful that I have been able to demonstrate the ability to make these changes and adapt with relative ease and minimal disruption to my sense of self or my mental health. I am happy to know that the end is on the horizon and that even while I am in this current treatment component, my body is healing and responding positively. I think the main place where my mental health is suffering is on the work front; the fatigue with the ongoing demands has gotten worse, and I am thankful that my leave will start soon enough. In the back of my mind, I am concerned. I have read multiple accounts of people taking leave and, upon their return, being fired from their position. I have received a verbal response indicating that they need me in the position, but a verbal confirmation is not a written one and therefore holds little to no weight. I can only remain hopeful and wish for the best, AND enjoy the time I actually get to heal and rest. In terms of how long that time will be, I am not sure. Finances don’t look too hot right now, but I am grateful and thankful for anything I am able to take.

The treatment itself is significantly less disruptive than chemotherapy, and despite it being five days a week early in the morning, it is so much more bearable both physically and mentally. At worst, I am experiencing rigidity, soreness, and a severe skin reaction. In the grand scheme of things, these are mild compared to what they could be. I find myself often making that comparison. But it helps me keep perspective.

I have struggled with the swirling and destabilizing thoughts and fears about recurrence. And the way I have been fighting against it is just recognizing where I am at: literally still in treatment. Still undergoing lifesaving treatment. My body is still undergoing these changes, and it hasn’t had a chance to breathe or stay still. Once I am done with treatment, I will have to remind myself that I will be watched like a hawk during the coming years and remind myself that once I reach 5 years of no recurrence, the likelihood of it happening drops dramatically. And if it does come back, as my therapist reminded me, treatment will be much different because I know what will come, and I will know how to fight this. It is terrifying to think about doing this all over again – particularly, it makes me incredibly aware that I need to have health insurance – and a good one at that. It is also just scary to think I would have to face my mortality yet again, and I cannot fathom what that would look like a second time. What rhyme or reason is there? The best I can do is continue to live my life and ensure that I am living it well. I won’t lie to you – I’ve also been watching and listening to those YouTube guided meditation and Reiki videos. For what it’s worth, it’s helped me quite a bit in maintaining a positive outlook.

I’m making it out of the riptide, and it feels like I am finally lying on the shifting sands below. The waves aren’t as strong, and I am close enough to shore that I can stop kicking and shifting, knowing I won’t be dragged back out. I’m catching my breath.