Congratulations, You’re Cancer-Free. Now Go Figure It Out.

When you’re in active cancer treatment, you have a whole damn professional posse.

A cancer treatment team.
Oncologist. Nurses. Techs.
Dieticians. Counselors. Social workers.
People who actually answer the phone at 2 a.m.

Feel a little warm? Call.
Feel weird? Call.
Feel like your toe might fall off or your brain might be melting? Call.

They’ve got you. Constantly. Comfortingly. Competently.

And then one day you ring the bell, get your all-clear PET scan, and—SURPRISE!—they send you home with a smile, a pat on the head, and instructions to “come back in three months.”

Three.
Whole.
Months.

No one says, “Hey, by the way, we’re still here.”
No one says, “Call us if your brain loses its damn mind.”
The oncologist doesn’t say, “Questions? Anxiety? Existential dread?”
The dietician does not check in.
The team doesn’t disappear… but they sure stop waving you back in.

Meanwhile, your friends and family are THRILLED.
You’re cured! You won! You should be HAPPY!
Grateful!
Sparkly!
Full of bubbles and light and inspirational Instagram captions!

Except… you’re not.

Because you just spent six months—or years—fighting a war in hell.
You survived.
But your brain and emotions are still in the foxhole.

So you cry.
You worry.
You spiral.
You do not feel happy happy joy joy. Instead, you feel guilty.

The first time I landed in this weird no-WOman’s-land, I developed a crippling fear of going outside. Anywhere. Ever. I couldn’t walk out my apartment door without a full-blown anxiety attack.

I lived like that until my first three-month checkup. I finally told my oncologist.

He said, “Don’t worry. It’ll go away.”
(Oncologists are very chill about things that are not life or death – to them.)

But the nurse?
She leaned in and said, “You still have access to the team. Let me set you up with a counselor who will COME TO YOU.” (No virtual reality in 2003.)

And she did.
For a month, we worked through it.
The fear faded—just like the doctor said it would.

But here’s the thing: how long would it have taken without the team?
How much unnecessary suffering happens because no one tells you that you’re allowed to keep asking for help?

This time around, I’m doing better—because I knew this part was coming.
Some days I’m genuinely happy.
Some days I’m absolutely not.

And that is VERY confusing for the people who love me.

Let’s get one thing straight:
I am a KICK-ASS WARRIOR.
And if you’re standing where I’m standing right now—so are YOU.

But even warriors get tired.
And scared.
And emotionally wrecked.

So don’t beat yourself up.

Celebrate when you can.
Cry when you need to.
Sleep.
Be sad.
Do nothing at all if that’s all you’ve got.

This part will pass.

And when it does—
you will still be a
KICK. ASS. WARRIOR. 💥

---

Sun on the water,
sparkling like diamonds—
I wish I could make them
the thoughts in my head.

I don’t remember
when my mind was unburdened,
when nothing pressed in
or demanded to stay.

Once there was only
the shine of what’s coming,
sparkling water ahead—
a future of light.

So I sit with the water,
borrow its quiet persistence,
letting each small sparkle
remind me how to look forward again.