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“In the world of cancer patients it’s a very significant date, and for me personally, it was the most important date in my life, more important than any birthday or any holiday. No victory or loss could compare to it.”

That quote is from Lance Armstrong in his book It’s not About the Bike. He’s talking about the anniversary of his diagnosis date.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer on September 1, 2011. This Saturday marks my 1 year anniversary of that date. The closer it gets to that date, the more I find myself reflecting on it. I was talking about it with my boyfriend, last night, over dinner. I think it’s a natural desire to be sad when this date arrives - and there are moments where I tear up as I reflect - but, at the same time… I can’t help but think of what has been accomplished over this past year.

I like the way Lance talks about it in his book:

“Kik calls my anniversary Carpe Diem Day, to remind us to always seize the moment. Every year we spend that day celebrating our existence. We remind ourselves that it’s a myth to say that I beat cancer. The drugs beat cancer. The doctors beat cancer. I just survived it.”

For as awful as the experience was for me, I’m still here. By god, I’m still here. Tomorrow night I get to watch my youngest son perform in the high school marching band, during half time, for the first time. This time last year? I wasn’t sure I’d ever have that chance. I was just wanting to live - even just for a little while… or, at least, have an idea as to if / when I was going to die.

But I’m still here.

I don’t know why I am, but I am.

Lance talks about how he’s a different person - how cancer changed him. I understand that feeling. My whole life changed the moment I heard those words over the telephone that said “it is cancer”. I remember the breath being taken from me. I remember the haze that enveloped my brain. I remember being in shock. I remember it all.

I’m not the same person I was before cancer. I’m just not.

“I won’t kid you. There are two Lance Armstrongs, pre-cancer, and post. Everybody’s favorite question is “How did cancer change you?” The real question is how didn’t it change me? I left my house on October 2, 1996, as one person and came home another. I was a world-class athlete with a mansion on a riverbank, keys to a Porsche, and a self-made fortune in the bank. I was one of the top riders in the world and my career was moving along a perfect arc of success. I returned a different person, literally. In a way, the old me did die, and I was given a second life.”

Over the course of the past year, I’ve somehow managed to make it through months of chemotherapy, three surgeries, countless blood draws and needle sticks and started back to school to learn something I’ve always wanted to do.

I was sitting in class and talking to a fellow student, just yesterday, about breast cancer. She was wearing a tee shirt with a pink ribbon on it and it started the conversation. It turns out, breast cancer took her aunt from her just one week ago. It saddens me that some of us make it and some of us don’t. Her aunt fought for 4 years. Bless her. I can’t imagine. But cancer is scary that way…

“People die. That truth is so disheartening that at times I can’t bear to articulate it. Why should we go on, you might ask? Why don’t we all just stop and lie down where we are? But there is another truth, too. People live. It’s an equal and opposing truth. People live, and in the most remarkable ways. When I was sick, I saw more beauty and triumph and truth in a single day than I ever did in a bike race—but they were human moments, not miraculous ones. I met a guy in a fraying sweat suit who turned out to be a brilliant surgeon. I became friends with a harassed and overscheduled nurse named LaTrice, who gave me such care that it could only be the result of the deepest sympathetic affinity. I saw children with no eyelashes or eyebrows, their hair burned away by chemo, who fought with the hearts of Indurains.

I still don’t completely understand it”

Me neither. It’s all a crazy mess. It’s chaotic and I don’t know why it works (or doesn’t) the way that it does. I just know that I’m here and this anniversary reminds me of that. It reminds me that I’m here and I’m not the same. Every day that I get out of the shower and look at the scars on my body, I know I’m not the same. When I run my fingers through my now-curly hair, I know I’m not the same. As I look in the eyes of those that I love, I know that we’re not the same.

Going through cancer is a scary, sad, awful life-changing experience. I’ve gained tolerance for a lot of things and lost tolerance for a lot of things. I may not see old age. Every day of my life I will have this looming cloud over me that says so. It reminds me that I should just be happy that I’m here, today, and I am…

But cancer corrupts your soul. It changes who you are and what you think and believe. It forces your mind to reflect and mull over regrets with a fine-toothed comb. The thought of “what if I don’t make it?” stays with you always. Even after they say you’re in remission and there is no cancer left in your body - it’s always known that they mean: “At this time” like “At this time there is no cancer left in your body”… the cloud will always loom over me.

But today - TODAY I’m a survivor. TODAY I’m here.

I don’t know why or how or for whom… but TODAY - I AM HERE

“I’ll spend the rest of my life puzzling over my survival. Cancer no longer consumes my life, my thoughts, or my behavior, but the changes it wrought are there in me, unalterable. I’ve learned that intense movement is a necessary thing in my life, something as fundamental and as simple as breathing. I don’t believe I could ride, or live, any differently. Also, I’ve learned to be more thoughtful, and resist saying the first thing that otherwise might come out of my mouth. Above all, I’ve learned that if I have a tough week, all I have to do is sit back and reflect. It’s easy to say, ‘These things don’t bother me anymore.’. “

This is going to be an interesting weekend for me. It will be spent reflecting, appreciating and celebrating. A favourite local band - Rivet Head - is doing a benefit concert on Saturday night. It’s for the American Cancer Society. I believe that is amazingly appropriate so I will be going to that, for sure.

Today, I’m here. Today.

I haven’t been blogging or tweeting much because I’ve been so busy with school.

Here I am - nearly 40 years old - and finally going to school for something that I love: cosmetology.

I love it. The classes are intense and informative and, oftentimes, I find my brain swimming in information when I leave; but, I am ridiculously happy to be there.

I really enjoy the nurturing aspect of it and how one person’s day can be made wonderful simply because they had their hair or nails done.

I remember going through the whole breast cancer ordeal and, while bald and feeling sick, being completely uplifted because someone I know took the time to bring me some make up and help me tie a new, beautiful scarf on my head. I can take what I’ve learned in class and couple it with my own life experience to help other breast cancer survivors feel good about themselves again.

All of that to say - my time in class for the few days per week that I’m there is keeping me overloaded and, thus, the blogging, tweeting and more are not being paid as much attention to. I’m catching up when I can, though.

That’s about it - back to photo editing…

FACEBOOK

I’m almost done with all of my own breast cancer stuff.

I was declared “in remission” on February 14 and I have one final reconstruction surgery in June. Now? Now I am starting the different ways I want to help others have the same fortune I’ve experienced.

First thing - Sign up to do the Komen Dallas walk in October.

Here is the link to my personal donation / Komen page: HERE

I know that there are those who aren’t kosher with donating to Komen because of political shenanigans that happened. That’s fine. You don’t have to donate to this particular thing if you’re not comfortable. Just read my story on the page and you’ll see why I support Komen. 

You can also donate directly to The Bridge Breast Network at BridgeBreast.org.

this is the group that helped me get diagnosed and treated. They do this for thousands of women every month. Go check their web page out, too.

My dude - the tattoo artist - is putting together plans for October fundraising that includes pink ribbon tattoos. That money will go to The Bridge Breast Network, too.

Most importantly - be sure to check yourself out on the regular. 

That’s what’s up.