Acknowledging that there may be cancer cells floating around inside my body waiting to land, divide, and multiply is hard. I want to ignore it and not think about it but the thought nags at me throughout each day. There’s no way of knowing, no tests that could find such tiny things. Aches and pains that seemed normal before September 3, 2015 now easily turn into a quiet paranoia. I find that when something is really truly wrong, there is a stillness and calm that sets in, a dead quiet in my mind. Not really what I would call peaceful; it’s more like an intense focus on the situation, whether it’s that I drilled my thumb, cut a two-inch gash in my hand, watched Amelia’s face swell after a bee sting, or witnessed someone get hit by a truck. Panic doesn’t work in these situations – a purposeful calm does.

The fact is, I’m two stages closer to the real worst case scenario than I have ever been, and it’s an uncomfortable emotional state to be in. I am not usually a time-focused person, but cancer is now forcing me to think about things in more of a time-critical way. When will I be 100% recovered from surgery? When will I adjust to not having a breast? What will the scar look like in a year? What will chemo be like? When will I recover from chemo? When will I lose my hair? When will my hair grow back? When will a day go by that Amelia and I aren’t consumed by cancer? When will I feel normal again? When can I say I am cancer-free? When will I feel safe?