I'm "done" with cancer | Health Update #9
Nov. 8, 2023 - Dec. 9, 2024
This is What’s Up Wednesday, where I give you a personal update on a Wednesday. Clever, right? If you’re new, you can subscribe here. Views and experiences my own.
This week, I finished my last scheduled cancer treatment.
If anyone’s counting, that means I’ve completed six rounds of chemotherapy and 12 targeted treatments over the past year. My first round of chemotherapy was on Nov. 8, 2023. I’ve gone to the hospital, got my blood drawn, and sat for an infusion once every three weeks for the past 397 days. I got my “no evidence of disease/NED” stamp in March. I’ve had MRIs, mammograms, EKGs, radiation, surgery, ultrasounds, and other procedures in the time throughout. I’ve had three to four appointments on average every week.
Now, as of Dec. 9, 2024, I’m officially done with cancer.
Okay, you knew there was a catch. No one is ever really done with cancer – the side-effects, check-ups, and trauma will be lifelong. Healing isn’t linear. Scanxiety and medical PTSD are real. (You’ve heard me say this all before). In three months, I’ll have check-up scans. I can take on the label “cancer survivor,” but it still has the word cancer in it.
But none of that matters to me right now. Because at this point in time, I am as done with cancer as I can hope to get.
It feels naive to say I never would’ve expected this to happen to me even though I struggled with health issues for years before my diagnosis, but it’s the truth. I’ve kept my hospital bracelets as a physical representation of everything I’ve been through over the past year of my life just to have something tangible to hold onto, since the scars don’t show and my hair held on.
In my first health update, I couldn’t understand why people complimented me on sharing my journey. To me, getting to talk about it felt the greatest relief I could get.
“It doesn’t feel brave, and it doesn’t feel vulnerable,” I said. “It feels like I’m finally able to be honest – I have been sick and in pain for a long time. I just didn’t feel like I had a valid reason to talk about the other stuff.”
I’m so grateful I’ve had not one, not two, but three pieces published in The Washington Post about it. I’m grateful I got to write about it for Business Insider. I’m grateful for those who have had patience, kindness, and tolerance. I’m grateful for good doctors, incredible nurses, and modern technology. I’m grateful for my friends and family. I’m grateful for Zofran.
But most importantly, I’m grateful I’ve been able to share this journey at all. I know it’s a privilege – to still be here is a privilege.
To everyone who has commented, texted me, or DMed me thanking me for sharing, thank you. Often, I feel like I’m talking to a wall, writing just to write because otherwise I’ll go crazy having never said it. If even just one person can feel seen or learn something new, I will consider my time here successful.
You don’t have to listen. You don’t have to read. But you did. I know I’m so supported, even if I don’t see it right in front of me, and that’s made me want to support everyone I’ve met with similar health issues tenfold. (In fact, I have a project up my sleeve, so if you made it this far, here’s a hint).
There’s no way to explain all of cancer’s nuances in one article, or even three. There’s no way to describe being 23, blinking, and then you’re about to turn 25 – all that time vanished like an IV bag gone dry. There’s no way to easily communicate the perspective shift that happens, the fear that creeps in, the protective mechanisms you use to survive. There’s no way to share the pain without it being a bummer. But you do, anyway. I did, anyway.
My family and I started a saying sometime throughout this journey, “Being sick is a full-time job.” If not the hours you spend scheduling appointments, waiting for your appointments, and going to your appointments, then the hours of exhaustion you feel after those appointments. We can’t forget the hours set aside for healing, either, whether that’s rest, creative expression, spiritual practices, or other healthy coping mechanisms that might be seen as impractical to a corporate world.
When you frame it as a full time job, you allow yourself the space to take care of yourself that the 40-hour work week does not. If that’s how I have to continue to justify it so it makes sense to people, I will. Being sick has been a full-time job. (And I’d know, I have a full-time job again!) I don’t regret taking the time and space to “do nothing on the couch.” “Nothing” brought me this.
Being sick has been a 40-hour a week commitment, and it’s not a job I signed up for. Thankfully, I’m quitting today. (Well, maybe going part-time). While my “personal journey” will continue for the rest of my life, I share all this in the hopes that we can see the personal not as something that gets in the way of the professional, but as something that gives meaning to it. Take care of yourself, friends.
Thank you for tuning in. For now, I have one thing to say: I’M DONE WITH CANCER.
Rachel, this is wonderful news! We met briefly at ONA this year, and I'm grateful to have crossed your path. Thank you for being so generous in sharing your story. Sending you good wishes and continued good health.