Emotional is an understatement. The idea of walking the Survivor Lap at the Relay for Life (Fri, June 25-26) made me feel sick.  Why? I can't put my finger on it.

On one hand it felt like it would give me some closure to my ordeal. On the other, it meant admitting that I wasn't as 'normal' as I pretended to be over the last year. Then of course, there was the announcing that I actually had cancer to many people in my town that probably did not know.

I admit, I can be a bit loud (my friends are laughing at that understatement), but I do not feel comfortable putting myself in the spotlight. I am more of a loud-in-a-group kind of gal. Walking a lap in a bright purple shirt that screams 'I had Cancer' was not my idea of subtle... yikes!

I did it, with the help and support of two friends who also were walking (survivors of Cervical and Ovarian Cancers).  We linked arms then held hands and tried our best not to cry (super hard).  It was incredibly weird to be walking in the lap rather than watching and cheering from the inside of the track. Many were crying, whether for us, or perhaps for those they wished were walking. Back to that word emotional....

Then we reluctantly let go and our families & friends joined us for the second lap (Caregivers Lap), which felt great.

Walking with my fellow cancer survivors then walking with my husband and kids reminded me that I am not in this alone. I never was.  I never will need to be. 

I am glad I did it.

During chemotherapy, I knew that I would have fuzzy, lost moments. That was obvious after the first treatment.  What I didn't realize was how mushy I would get.

My husband tells stories now about how often I would repeat myself and tell the same story or re-do something I just did. We can laugh now that I have no more treatments (knock on wood) but during chemo, hearing I was less than normal was a topic I could not take.  Don't know about you but I tried very hard to maintain a sense that I was normal, fine...etc.  After a while, hearing other ChemoHeads tell me their 'moments', helped me to lighten up.

Today, I have been treatment free for about 3 months and I still have many ChemoHead moments. For example, last week at my daughter's graduation (correct term is really 'promotion' since it was a graduation from 4th grade), I had the great idea that we should all walk home and enjoy the fresh air.  As we were ready to depart, my husband reminded me that I drove to the school. I seriously forgot I did that and forgot about the car in the lot.  DOH!

My brain is better but those moments, I assume, will continue for a while. Hopefully it will continue to fade as the poison/chemo fades. I'll let you know.... 

I can remember clearly hearing those words and I knew that life would never by the same. Melodramatic? Not if you are on the receiving end.

Hearing those words made me think a flurry of crazy thoughts- denial/not me, must be a mistake, they are wrong; then complete fear, bordering on hysteria- am I going to die- who will take care of my girls- how much time do I have; and finally, a crazy acceptance (to a point- I'm not that logical). I just mean that, as my Mom would say, 'It is what it is' and now I was on a mission to get through it.

I think I went through all these, and many other emotions, through the entire experience. 8 months later, I am trying to learn how to move on without the treatments, the constant testing, the mush brain (still have that to a point) etc.. How to get back to 'normal' in other words.

Hoping this blog can be a source of comfort, a way to express what we are or have gone through, and what life is like after cancer.