Revealing Grace

It is odd to think that I will always have these scars, these reminders of the cancer that once was. Everyone rejoices with you that it is "over," but so much of it never ends. There are always more appointments, more check-ups, more ways you have to heal. Your body is the most tangible piece of it all. Your muscles have to wake up and your mind has to clear. Your new chest has to settle in and your eyes have to get used to seeing a new and foreign body in the mirror. It is odd to think that this is now me, that I will never look like I did before. Before . Life will forever now be divided by before and after. What was. What now is. Your mind is the less tangible piece of healing. The exhaustion from the last few months of treatment, the quiet that gives space to realize what has just happened. There is a funny mix of fear and relief, anxiety and peace. There is no more cancer. My goodness there was cancer. But the journey has taken its toll. I haven't foun

No one really prepared me for what it would be like once chemo ended. I guess I never really thought that far ahead. For months it has been a constant cycle of treatments and recovery. It was all I could do to propel myself into that chair again. I had to be short-sighted. It was how I survived. And then chemo ended. And the future opened up. You would think the resulting emotion would be some insane joy that the worst of treatment was over. You would imagine that I would feel free and full of life. But where I expected joy, I found anxiety. Where I expected freedom, I felt trapped by fear. For the first time I had time for the reality to sink in: I had cancer. I'm 29 years old and healthy, and I had cancer.  For the first time I realized that no matter what, I cannot go back. No matter how hard I try, my life will never be the same. For weeks, I worried that every little twinge or pain, every weird and probably normal thing, was a sign of something deadly. As I looked t