It's been two years and one day since I came home from the hospital. The transplant was October 28th, and it was 14 days before they let me go. But they almost didn't let me leave. They probably shouldn't have; I wasn't ready.
What the doctors never told me was that life would never return to normal after the transplant; after cancer. I guess I should have known that. Looking back over the past two years, I have spent so much time ignoring the two that came before it. Throwing myself into my work, getting caught up in whatever was going on at the time that I haven't spent much time thinking of what I, and also Ti, went through for a long time. I haven't put anything I should have learned from the experience to use.
Two years gone by since the long road to recovery started and I still have more to go. The physical effects of chemo and radiation have mostly worn off, my beard still isn't even, and the scars and tattoos cover my body. They'll continue to be my daily reminders of the most difficult fight I've ever been through.
But they aren't the only scars I have. I'm still deeply scarred emotionally. There is much hiding underneath the surface that hasn't been resolved or killed off my chemo. Two years out and I'm still as angry, sad and confused as I was going into my first chemo treatment.
I'm not sure if it's normal or not, but as soon as I was well enough, I walked away from the life I had during treatment. Stopped visiting the online boards, stopped reading the blogs of others fighting their own fights, stopped everything. I can't think this was healthy for me - compartmentalizing a huge part of my life and putting it away like a jacket in a closet. Dealing with my illness, the treatments and their side effects made me try to suck it all in and be as strong as I could. I just never spent time letting it all come back out.
Congrats to Bekah for finally reaching remission. It's been a long, hard fight, and maybe, just maybe, she can take a deep breath and enjoy what tomorrow brings.
Good night everyone.