Something has changed within me. Something is not the same.

I did it! I finished chemo! What seemed at the beginning as though it would never end, is now two weeks behind me?! Two weeks! Two Fridays I didn’t have to sit in a hospital lounger and receive poison!

The routine of it had become comforting and I sort of miss parts of it. Certainly not the way chemo makes me feel — I’m still dealing with that so, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t miss it — but definitely the feeling of doing something, taking charge in some way.

I created a ritual around chemo days. I’d load my bright pink backpack with socks, a hat, an iPad, book, headphones, and an assortment of creams and lip glosses, filled an oversized water bottle and secured it in the outside pocket, crammed ice socks and gloves into a kids’ lunchbox, tucked a heating blanket under my arm, held a coffee with my free hand and off I went. Prepared for at least boredom and dry hands.

The process of receiving the infusions was, for me, the easiest part of cancer so far. (I mean, you know how I feel about the Benadryl, so put that aside.) Some of that was thanks to Justin being there with me for (almost) every infusion, some thanks to my ritual, but a lot of it can be attributed to the incredible care team. I feel so lucky to have landed in the care of a truly incredible group of amazing, kick-ass nurses. And I miss them.

For four months I saw those warm, friendly faces on a weekly — sometimes daily — basis and learned about them, their families, their lives outside of the hospital. They never looked at me with pity for my circumstance or shock at my appearance, never treated me as though I was weak. To be a nurse is a selfless gift to the community — but to be an oncology nurse? These women are compassionate, brave, smart, strong. And I want all of them to be my friends forever. But also, I never want to see them again? (Not inside the infusion wing, anyway!)

And it seems like I may not have to! Following scans a few weeks back I received a call with “fantastic” results! The radiologists saw a “significant treatment response” and couldn’t find any residual mass. Unless surgery next month turns up some small, trace amounts of cancer — I think we got it?!

It is so surreal.

No. Signs. Of. Cancer.

Feels wild. I’m still processing my diagnosis — forget about everything that has happened since then. I have so much mental work to do to get through all of that, my brain can’t quite handle this yet. I was just beginning to accept there was a chance I could in fact get to see my children grow up, that I wasn’t headed down a dark, endless path. But yet, I know cancer will always be there. In the shadows lurking, hovering, threatening to show its face again.

It’s been added to my defining characteristics, like it or not.

I can no longer draw a line down the “no” column on medical forms.

Two words added to the summary of my life. Wife. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Creative. Dog mom. Bleeding heart. And now, cancer survivor.

I can’t wrap my brain around the fact that this thing that was growing wildly, without my awareness or permission, so close to my heart, is gone. Just like that.

But also? Obviously.

I am so much stronger than cancer. Cancer is a bitch that backed down. I’m still standing. Still fighting.

My opponent may be flat on the mat, but I’m still swinging.

If I called it a day because there were no signs of cancer I’d be right back to January, back to Infusion. But I can’t, because there is nothing stopping this ugly beast from raging back. There is much yet to be done.

There’s the physical work of taking the pieces apart so I can be put back together. Physical healing. Radiation. Years of pills. A lifetime of scans. So many appointments. Whether or not I want to get cancer off my mind, I won’t be able to.

And maybe I don’t need to.

I’ve always been resilient, never backed down from a challenge. I have thrived through tests, trials, adversity. I’ve come out stronger where others have fallen. I’ve always held that shit happens, it is what you do with it that matters. Do you let it make you a victim and cast a shadow on your entire life? Take the colors away from the rainbow stretched before you and replace it with endless rainy days?

Cancer may have stolen my eyebrows, but it could never steal my spirit.

The rest of my life will be played by a very different set of rules. Life is, as we all know, fleeting. Time flies by faster than anything man can make. Each moment is precious. Meaningful.

Made for defying gravity.