Exactly one year ago today, I was lying on a table in an operating room in a hospital in Plano, Texas while my fabulous surgeon excised all the cancer that had invaded my body.
Two weeks ago, the 9th of this month, was the 1 year anniversary of my diagnosis. I chose to not make a big deal out of that day for a few reasons. The main reason being that while the actual diagnosis changed my life, my outlook, and my reason for living, the surgery saved my life, my outlook and my reason for living.
This day is so vivid in my mind. I was a complete and total wreck and had a couple of major breakdowns before being wheeled into that room, the last one in the presence of my anesthesiologist who, mercifully, gave me some Versed to calm me down.
I remember begging my surgeon and my anesthesiologist to promise me that I would wake up, but my biggest fear was that they would open me up and have to close because it was too progressed.
That, of course, did not happen and I woke up 7 hours later, vomiting, without the use of my left arm, and without the ability to swallow anything more than a liquid, but I woke up.
My first thought was of my children, husband and parents, the people I most did not want to leave but was even more elated to know that I was returning to.
One year ago I feel as if my life was handed back to me, albeit with some restrictions and with some difficulties, but it's mine again. Cancer can't have me and won't have me.