Hope and Fear Can Exist at the Same Time

Today is a day of happiness and fear. Happiness because, for the first time in a while, things are looking more favorable. There is a possibility that maybe—just maybe—the cancer has gone away. And then there is the fear. The fear that comes with knowing there is another scan ahead. The fear that what looks favorable today could somehow look different tomorrow. The fear that I will allow myself to celebrate, only to have the rug pulled out from underneath me. Why does everyone want the answer so badly? I sometimes wonder if it is because everyone wants to see me as “normal” again. As though hearing the words “There is no evidence of disease” somehow makes the cancer disappear. As though the chapter can simply close and we can all move forward. But they don't live inside my head. They don't know what I do with the numbers. A Ki-67 of 80%.13 out of 15 lymph nodes still positive after chemotherapy. Those numbers don't simply disappear because today's scan looks more favorable. My mind goes somewhere else. I imagine those little suckers that may have escaped—traveling through my bloodstream and depositing themselves somewhere they aren't supposed to be. Hiding. Waiting. Silent. Waiting for the opportunity to strike again. And that is the part people don't always understand. When you've been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer, the fear doesn't automatically disappear when you receive good news. Good news feels incredible. But it can also feel terrifying. Because hope means allowing yourself to believe that maybe you really will be okay. And believing that means opening yourself up to the possibility of being devastated again. Sometimes I find myself thinking, I give it less than two years, and I'll be right back where I started. I hate that my mind goes there. But this is what cancer has done to me. It has changed the way I think about tomorrow. It has made uncertainty louder. It has made every scan feel like a judgment on my future. And it has made me realize that surviving cancer isn't simply about getting through treatment. Sometimes the hardest part is learning how to live when treatment is over and you are still carrying the fear of what might come next. So today, I am going to try something different. I'm going to let myself be happy. Not because I know what the next scan will say. Not because I know what the next two years will bring. Not because I can guarantee that those little suckers aren't somewhere I can't see them. But because today's news is favorable. And today is the day I have. Maybe I don't have to choose between hope and fear. Maybe I can carry both. I can be scared and still be hopeful. I can celebrate without pretending I'm no longer afraid. I can acknowledge the possibility of recurrence without allowing it to become a prediction of my future. I don't know what tomorrow's scan will show. But today, I am here. And today, I'm going to let myself feel happy about that.