The View From The Summit

My carabiner was successfully removed yesterday. Ironically, the procedure ended exactly at 10am, as I predicted. I was a bit groggy from the sedation, but I remember my doctor saying, "Well, it's 10-o-clock and we are done...not bad for a morning's work."

So that's it; I am done. I have reached the top of my mountain. There are no more treatments or procedures that I need, no more weekly doctor's visits, no more thinking about killing "the Bitch." The only thing left to do at this point is to allow my body and mind to heal. My God, I have wished for this day for so, soooo long. And as with anything that you wish for with all your might, it's always a bit surreal when the wish finally comes true.

I don't have enough fingers on both hands to count the number of times in the past year that I felt so overwhelmed and so certain that I could never possibly make it to the top. Anyone who has followed my blog from the beginning knows that going through cancer treatment like I had is ridiculously difficult. In fact, I just spent the past couple hours re-reading many of my blog entries and was reminded again at how formidable this climb has been -- chemo, radiation, surgery, more chemo, more surgery. And those were just the physical challenges! The emotional challenges were equally gargantuan -- the uncertainty about whether the cancer had metastasized, the fear about what my future held in store, the terror in my heart that I might not have a "future", the annoyance at having my life put "on hold", the frustration with feeling like my body had "given out." Reliving all these painful, vivid memories again brought me to tears.

And yet, here I am ... I am "Bitch-free"... I am alive and healing ... My climb is over.

I never really stopped along the way to think about how I would feel once I reached the summit. I guess I just assumed that I would feel extremely happy and that's about it. Of course I am thrilled, but the reality is that I also feel so much more. I feel an enormous sense of relief. Relief to know that there is nothing left to be done at this point but heal. Relief to know that I am no longer standing on the edge of a precipice wondering whether I will fall down to the valley floor below before I can gather the strength to climb to the top. Relief to know that my life will soon begin to ease back to normal (or at least a new sense of normal.) And I feel extremely grateful. Grateful that the human body is so capable of surviving incredible abuse and is able to heal from it and reach a new equilibrium. Grateful that I was born with enough fiestiness and determination to achieve whatever I set my mind out to achieve. Grateful for the handful of friends and family who taught me how to tackle life's challenges with grace. Grateful that I am surrounded by so many wonderful friends and family who cared enough about me to cheer me on every step of this journey. And I feel humbled. Humbled to know that life is too precious to ever take for granted. Humbled to know that life's lessons sometimes need to be learned the hard way in order to really sink in. And, lastly, I feel enlightened. Enlightened to the fact that life is not a dress-rehearsal and that if I don't start living the life that I want today, I might never get another chance. Enlightened to the fact that blessings surround us every day, but that it often takes challenges such as cancer to open our eyes and see them. And enlightened (and thrilled!) to recognize that a new chapter of my life begins today and that the future I wish for is mine to create.

So with all of these emotions swirling crazily through my head -- relief, gratefulness, humbleness, enlightenment, happiness -- I stand here now, at the top of my mountain, and scream "Thank you, Lord!" at the top of my lungs. And I look around with tears in my eyes at the beauty, and wonder and mystery of life and I savor the fact that I am here to enjoy it for (hopefully) many more years to come.

I wish that I were able to hug and thank each and every person who has read my blog and who has cheered me on these past 12 months, but since many of you live many miles away (and since I don't even know some of you!), I realize that this is not possible. Therefore, in lieu of me hugging you on this very special day, perhaps you could do me a favor: Please take a minute out of your day and hug someone else -- your spouse, your children, your friend, your neighbor. Really, really HUG them! And let them know how much you love them and how important they are in your life. And feel grateful to be alive and to be able to share your love, since, in the end, that is all any of us really want or can hope for: to feel beloved on this earth.