Could’ve Would’ve Should’ve (the Cancerversary edition)

Today was supposed to mark my 8th year cancer free.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t bringing up a lot of emotions:

• grief over the loss of who i was

• frustration at my lack of control

• betrayed by my body and

• angry that this continues to be my life.

In January of 2015, I was living in Chicago, working for the Cubs and knew very little about melanoma. The sum of all I knew was learned in a college health class, taken only to fulfill a general education credit.

I’m not even sure how long the mole was there, only that my gut told me it didn’t look quite right. Every morning while I was getting ready for the day, I’d look in the mirror and that nagging feeling would gnaw at me.

The mole was slightly larger than a pencil eraser, half was a dark brown and half was an even darker brown. The, right in the center of the mole, was a small black dot. Looking back in old photos, I can see the mole visible as early as July of 2014 but don’t recall thinking of it until closer to November or December.

After showing it to my mom when I went home for Christmas, I ended up making a dermatology appointment that quite possibly saved my life. Upon first glance at the mole, the dermatologist put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Thank you for showing me this.” Less than a week later, I was diagnosed with Stage 1b malignant melanoma, pending a sentinel lymph node biopsy.

Just ten days after my initial biopsy, I was in surgery to have my first melanoma and 3 lymph nodes removed.

The next morning, I looked in the mirror for the first time since the surgery. With three incisions full of dark stitches, I thought I looked like Frankenstein and was scared I’d be scarred for life.

I’ve cried many times since that morning:

• when I felt hopeless about life after cancer

• when the pain from lidocaine injections became too much

• when it felt like doctors weren’t taking my concerns seriously enough

• when I felt like a burden to everyone i loved

• when I felt that I’d be alone forever because who wants to sign up for this? I sure didn’t!

• the days we found out the cancer came back

• the days we found out the cancer was gone

The thing they don’t tell you about cancer is that life after your treatment is often harder mentally than life during. You expect life to return to normal but it’s anything but. You feel like you should be happy and feel guilty when you don’t. During treatment, you have a plan and a purpose. After treatment, you’re left to process what you just went through with no instruction manual or plan. The people who supported you during active treatment slowly return to normalcy, relieved it’s all behind them and not realizing some of your toughest challenges are yet to come.

With melanoma, even after you’re considered NED (no evidence of disease or “cancer free”), the skin checks, biopsies and excisions continue. I’ve had so many moles and excisions since 2015 that I’ve lost count. With every mole that was biopsied and diagnosed as atypical, my mental health took another hit.

So when I reached the milestone of 5 years cancer free, you can bet I threw a party to celebrate. I had earned that celebration. Unfortunately, it was short-lived.

On March 17, 2021, in the midst of a global pandemic, I found out the melanoma was back (so much for the luck of the Irish).

Then again on September 8, 2021.

And yet again on February 2, 2022.

Today, I’m 8 days away from my next skin check. If all goes well, I’m also just 15 days away from finally reaching 1 year cancer free again. With a new care team I’ve yet to meet and that milestone within my reach, the stakes feel higher than ever.

But today, I can’t help but think of the 8 year cancerversary that could’ve been.

How do you mark your cancerversary: the day you were diagnosed or the day you found out you were cancer free? Do you celebrate your cancerversary? How do you recognize the milestones, big or small?