Counting to Two

An obvious result for my Google image search for "breast cancer survivor."
Not your ordinary pink ribbon.
Amazing algorithm!

How do you count to two?

One of the strange things about cancer is the absence of an agreed-upon definition of survivorship.  Well, obviously it means you're still alive.  I mean that there is no consensus on the date that your survivorship begins.  In my case, each of these is a viable start date:

• September 13, 2010--the day I found a lump
• October 27, 2010--the day my cancer was diagnosed
• February 18, 2011--the day of my mastectomy when the last trace of DCIS was removed from my right breast
• Some random date four to eight years before my diagnosis, since most breast cancers grow for four to eight years (big spread, right?) before they are detected

Depending on where you count from, I am either a two-year survivor or a two-and-one-half-year survivor (or, hell, a ten-and-one-half-year survivor!).  Naturally I prefer the longer period--as my oncologist said with respect to recurrence, "Time is your friend."  So the more time, the better.  

But when I really think about it, I have to go with the February date, because I could officially say that I was cancer-free on that date.  (Again, even "officially" is a relative term here because one never knows...)  So that's the date I celebrate.  Two years. (And one month.)

But celebrate may be the wrong word.  I just flicked back through my Google calendar to find my surgery date.  I can't believe I had to look it up--that's a good sign, though!  Seeing the appointment on my calendar was fine.  It's not like I ever pretend it never happened.  Even when I'm drunk.  Especially not when I'm drunk.

What made me cry was an entry on the day before--February 17, 2011--"Mommy-J Day."  That's what J calls a day we spend together with no one else around.  And I specifically remember planning this day because I knew I wouldn't be able to pick her up for several weeks, and I knew that I would be away from her for several days.  And I didn't really know what the doctors would find.  If they found any more invasive cancer, I would have had to have more chemo.  The hope was that they wouldn't find anything, but as mentioned, there was a bit of non-invasive cancer (with therapeutic changes--apparently good news).  And so I wondered if it might be the last day we would spend together where I would be really and truly present.

Spoiler alert--it wasn't.  I am so very grateful for every day of the last two years.  I'm still crazy of course, but much more at peace.  Apparently that's all it took.  Well, that and some Ativan.

L'chaim!