Not sure that word really works, but I’ll go with it.
One year ago today, I was in an operating room, anesthetized and oblivious to the hard work of a team of surgeons who removed a substantial part of my anatomy and (I hope), all the cancer with it.
It seems quite odd to think that a year has passed since that morning, a morning that was both frightening (will I die on the table? will they find more cancer that they didn’t expect?) and exhilarating (the bad stuff will be GONE, and I’ll be that much closer to survival). Some days, the memory of my hospital stay is incredibly vivid, and some little noise or scent will trigger a clear image of that week. Other days, I can barely remember what happened last year, and it seems as if it was all some sort of odd dream.
May 23, 2011 was a pretty momentous day. May 23, 2012 is perfectly ordinary. I’ve been doing some organizing and cleaning, working on figuring out the kids’ summer schedules, finishing laundry…mundane tasks that don’t ever seem to end. And that’s just fine with me.
I still find myself wondering, at times, how all this happened. I still catch myself waiting for cancer to be “over,” and I have to remember that there’s really no endpoint here. But with each one-year milestone, I feel as if I can put a bit more of the experience behind me.
What a difference a year makes, indeed.