Four Years Cancer Free!

Today marks four years of being completely done with Chemotherapy. 

and I am speechless.

I was talking to Juli yesterday and she said something along the lines of that when I was sick, she didn't believe that I had cancer and now that I'm better, she can't believe it's been so long ago. I agree. It seems like yesterday that walking up early in the morning to compete with other cars in the comute to  Boston just to recieve chemo was part of my everyday life. At the same time, it feels like forever ago that I had no hair, that I forgot what school was and that I was sick everyday for a year. I can't really explain what I'm feeling. A rush of emotions, disbelief, happiness, relief, and anxiety at the ever looming possibility of a relapse. I am more concerned today with midterms, history tests, weekend plans and teaching relief society! Recently, there has been more concern with my body freaking out, but it's still distant. Today is about being alive.

I reflect back on how thankful I am to be sitting here, to be writing this post. Four years ago, I never thought I would be here, I never thought this day would come. But I hoped. And sometimes, that is all we need to get through the hard days.

Some of you may know the story behind my make-a-wish, and many of you don't. My original wish was for an open holed flute, about a 2500 dollar instrument. Because of complications that came with the Make-a-wish foundation, I changed it and instead, my family and best friend got to go on a week long cruise during our April vacation my junior year. 
Unknown to me at the time, My Auntie M sent out a letter to many of my friends and family asking to donate to a fund so that I could recieve my flute. My high school band covered the rest of the funds, and four years ago, my Auntie M and Mr. Adams(my band teacher) presented me with the most beautiful flute I could ever ask for. How fitting is it that I will have the opportunity to play it at Stake conference this coming weekend. I am reminded about how many people love and care about me, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

I wrote this the last morning of my stay at the hospital, four years ago:

This morning I wake up once again to the never-ending droning of the IV pump, alarming me that the state of the fluids it is pumping into me is near empty and that I should page my nurse so that she can hang my next Liter of Liquid.. Like any other day in the hospital, I hit the nurse call button and quiet the alarm on my iv, my constant companion this last year. There is only one thing different about today. It’s the last time I’ll have to be woken by my pole. Today is my last day on 6N.

Yes, I am on 6N. Like last week, they had five beds open up over the weekend, and they graciously arranged it for me to move down to my home away from home for my last night. I even got to pick my own room. There is no other place I would rather be, finishing up my journey, than here, with the people it all started with. Even Susanne is on.

Yesterday was an emotional day. Molly, from the resource room planned a surprise end of chemo party for me, and all of my nurses signed a beautiful card, wishing me luck and to visit often. It’s hard for me to say goodbye to this place, even though I am so excited and relieved to be done with treatment But this has been my home for the past year, and these people have been the biggest parts of my life for the most of it as well. It’s hard to accept that I won't see my Susanne, Molly, Summer, Sarah, Elizabeth, Stacie, Katie, and Vicky, Theresa every month now. This has become my life, my normal, and its going to be weird to go back to...what normal was. What is normal anyways? I forget. This is my normal. Here, in this hospital. How do I go back to the way things were?

But I think I know the answer. I don’t. Life will never be the same for me or my family ever again. It will be better. We all have better, new perspectives on life, and understand the importance of living life to the fullest. There will be a whole new normal. Not the normal before cancer. And the normal during cancer. The normal after cancer. The normal where life is always beautiful.

Please continue to live each day to its fullest. Never take anything for granted, no how small and insignificant it may seem. Enjoy the simplest things that this world has to offer. Watch the trees turn colors. Smile when you wake up to the first snowfall of the year. Drive past your house when your favorite song comes on the radio and sing out loud to it. Smile when you wash the dishes. Hug someone you love. When the elevator breaks down, be thankful you have legs and can take the stairs. Eat dinner with your family tonight. read a book with your brother or sister or with your parents or child. Continue to love endlessly, unconditionally. 

So today, four years later, I sit in my room in Idaho and I remember every moment and every trial I faced to get here and see all of the beautiful blessings and people in my life who helped me achieve the impossible.

my life is a miracle. my life is beautiful.
I am in Idaho, surrounded by people who I love and who love me. 
Last night, I felt myself breathing in time with my favorite person and I felt myself being alive.
what a beautiful feeling; what a beautiful moment.

i am so grateful.
i am alive.