A year later

Had to log into my DR online appointments thingamajig and saw that I had my breast MRI coming up end of January.
Immediately the heart raced and I felt the struggle to breathe.

Here's the thing.
I've had many breast MRI's since 2009.
A few not so good.
(I have "rolling veins" and no one can ever get an IV started and I've mentioned before you need to lie on your stomach with your breasts through two holes for 45 minutes with your arms above your head not breathing.)
I know. Joyous.

I've been through many but each one is just as nerve-wracking.
Do I think I have breast cancer again?
No. I don't.
(And god knows I self exam monthly in fear of finding a lump)
I'm not fearful.
Yet I am totally fearful.


Because that's my life in a nutshell.
I fear.
And I dont.
I worry each day.
Yet take it as it comes.

Basically I'm trying to be the zen yoga eat kale one day at a time person that I strive to be
but really I'm the worry til 1AM insomniac tries meditation does like kale but still eats chocolate kind of person.

I'm really not fooling anyone so I call it like it is.
I fear.
And I dont.

Because there's nothing I can do to prepare for the first MRI since my second diagnoses December 24th, 2016.
It's not like a chocolate elimination is going to throw my breasts into non cancer mode if it's already there (so you know how I feel about this one. Eat the chocolate friends) (In moderation. Perhaps thrown into your kale smoothie)

So although I had a slight 60 second (okay more like 180 second) panic attack- I got through it.
And I will save the nerves for end of January when I know they will have to stick me twice (or three times) to get the darned IV in no matter how much I hydrate, use a warm cloth or clench and unclench my fists.
I will lie for 45 minutes trying to think of anything under the sun other than being cancer girl and I will then wait 24-48 hours until I get the call telling me I'm fine.
Because I will be.
Most likely.
I hope.

It's almost my cancer-versary so maybe my anxiety is a bit heightened.

Or maybe it's because I was talking to some women from LIVESTRONG and we discussed how the harder part of cancer is the afterwards.
The now.

We run on adrenaline and move to chemo and radiation and surgeries because we have no choice.
Because we have to try and get well again.
And then we are done.

And the scarves we once were to cover us up are no longer needed as much so we reveal our buzz cuts and can no longer hide to the world.

And the scans and appointments we once had weekly are now every 6 months.

And although that sounds heavenly it's also scary as all hell.

Are we okay?
How do we know we are okay?
Could you scan us to just make sure we are okay?


We now show ourselves.
There is no more hiding.
We are working our way back into the world again.

And it's hard to navigate.

Because it's different.

We are different.