I'm not dying!

I used to hate my scar. It was puckery and red and just downright ugly and it was a constant reminder about the (excuse my language) Hell I went through when I was 16. And I hated that I would never be able to escape it; that I would always be marked and reminded of the things I had lost and would never get back.

But that was when I was 16 and still coming to grips with cancer and the fact that I was fighting for my life every day. Now that I'm a tad bit older and I can see that cancer is one of the best things that has happened to me (although I never want to have to go through it again), I have learned to love and embrace my scar. It is a daily reminder that I can overcome anything placed in my way; that I was given this life because I am the only one strong enough to live it. It reminds me not to take things for granted; to take the time to walk down the drive way and get the mail because I can. Every time I look at those 16 inches of imperfect skin, I think about the people I love that are in my life because of that dumb tumor named Ricardo. It is my badge of courage. I have accepted that it will be there forever and I don't mind it anymore. And on some days, I actually love it.

Something that I had to learn to deal with since my first surgery was the awkward questions and looks that I would get. It's funny how bold people can be when they see something out of the ordinary. Or how ignorant. On an almost daily basis during the summer, I get the look up and down, the puzzled glance or a statement along the lines of: "Wow, that's a doozy! What did you do?" or "ACL injury, huh?" or "You are too young to have an injury like that" or my personal favorite: "It looks like you're dying."At first, it irritated me. Didn't people have the common decency to not ask about something so personal? Does it look like it was a simple ACL injury? Yes, I know I'm too young to have such a bad knee. DO I LOOK LIKE I'M DYING? Now, I just brush it off and skirt around it if I can. And since August 24th, I can now proudly and with great relief say: "No, I am not dying." Because, in fact, I am five years cancer free. And in the great cancer medical world, that is as closed to "cured" as I will ever get. 

Can I tell you what it's like to be five years cancer free? It's like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. It's like waking up to the sunshine after a weeks worth of rain. It's like I can finally look forward for longer then five minutes without having to look over my shoulder to make sure something isn't creeping up on me. It's like the whole world has finally opened up before me, and it's brighter and more vivid and stunning then I've ever seen, because it is. I don't take things for granted like I used to. And my life is full of opportunities that I can finally take a hold of without anything holding me back because I'm not afraid to be away from Boston for long periods of time. I'm not afraid of losing my ability to breathe. I'm not afraid of my knee failing. I'm. not. afraid. 

I guess I never was afraid of cancer coming back, because if I had to live with that kind of fear, I would have drowned. But I was afraid of having to put my life on hold in order to fight it again. But now I feel like I can finally live without that fear. I can make plans and follow through with them. I can even go to China.

So, no, man at the McDonalds in Raymond, I'm not dying! In fact, I am very, very much alive.

I believe in miracles. In second chances. In love. In God. In answered prayers. In life.