Every October 9, I mark the anniversary of my first surgery—the day the cancer was removed from my body. This year will be three years.
My oncologist never sat me down on a specific date and said, “You are cancer-free.” So October 9 is the date I chose for myself. It is a day I want to celebrate. But the longer I live with those words, cancer-free, the more I realize how much they mean—and how much they cannot promise.
For me, the most important celebration is continuing to receive negative results. I want every mammogram, every MRI, and every check to come back clear. I want to read the results and tell my husband and my parents, “Everything is negative.” They lived through my cancer with me. I know those words bring relief to them, too.
But before I can share that relief, I have to get through the appointment and the wait. I might look fine on the outside, while inside I am terrified. I notice every detail. If a nurse asks a question I don’t remember hearing before, I wonder why. If something about the visit feels different, I compare it with the last one. Waiting for the result can make an ordinary day feel anything but ordinary.
Then the result comes back negative. I breathe again. I tell my family. I remind myself that having had cancer does not mean it will happen again, and life returns to its usual rhythm. Until the next appointment, when the fear returns. Even an unfamiliar pain or discomfort can make me think, What if it’s cancer?
There is also so much I can celebrate about my body now. I am not in the pain I felt during treatment. I still get tired, but not the way I used to. I sleep better. I go to the gym, do cardio dance, and practice Pilates. After my surgeries, there were things I couldn’t do; now I can enjoy moving again. Cancer changed my weight, too. I am getting closer to where I want to be, but I am happy with myself today.
And yet, even on a good day, I can look in the mirror, see all the scars cancer left on my body, and be taken straight back to everything I went through. My body is trying to move forward, but my mind remembers.
Sometimes I look at photos of myself from treatment. I see what I went through, and I feel sad. I didn’t deserve it. And sometimes I still think, What did I do to deserve this? But I know that is the wrong question. It is not the question to ask when you get cancer. I don’t have to turn those pictures into a cheerful lesson to appreciate the life I have now. Both the sadness and the gratitude are real.
Being cancer-free has also made me question what I give my time and energy to. That doesn’t mean I changed my entire life, became vegan, or suddenly became super athletic. I am still myself. But I am trying to value what matters most to me and to the people I love. I am trying to notice when I put something first that may not deserve that place in my life. I don’t always get it right, but I am paying attention.
So I celebrate every day, and especially October 9. I celebrate each negative result, the relief I share with my family, and the strength I’ve regained. I also remember what happened, and I still feel afraid sometimes.
What does being cancer-free really mean to me?
It means everything to me, but it doesn’t mean I’m free from the fear of cancer. And I don’t think I ever will be. The question stays open because I’m still living it.