Scared of Not Being Scared

I hate to repeat myself and I hate to write blogs that I know are mediocore (at best), but tonight I'm going to do both of those things. In a vacation house full of sleeping people I love, I am wide awake, not only because I was the last one to wake up this morning, but because I'm scared. Yes, I'm scared. Scared for the same reason that I've written about countless times before. Scared that I have cancer in me.

I know the story is getting old, which is why I really don't talk about it with anyone anymore. But this is the space that is always willing to listen. It is the space where I can admit -- despite the redundancy of it all -- that my anxiety once again appears to be buliding as I near the anniversary of my diagnosis.

I thought a lot about this fear and anxiety today in a quiet 20 minutes I had alone kyacking on a lake in Maine. During that precious time, something clicked for me. An epiphany of understanding. A moment when I realized that I'm actually scared of not being scared.

The truth is that in the past few months, I've been relatively not scared of my cancer coming back. I've been particularly busy, which helps, and while there have been blips, overall, I've felt good both mentally and physically. The most valuable proof of this progress is in the fact that during the past few months, I've thought a lot about the future -- even the long-term one -- without anxiously doubting that I will be blessed with it.

Then, the summer arrived. I love the summer. But it also happens to be the season that I still associate with the scariest time of my life. Yes, those memories still weigh heavy with pain.

Today's realization was so simple yet so truly significant. I am scared to not be scared. I'm scared of that fact that I started to let my guard down. I'm scared that I started to feel free again -- free of the burden of cancer. Because the last time I felt free like that was right before I was jolted by the news that I sometimes still cannot fully comprehend.

Out on the kyack today, cruising across the glassy, gorgeous lake, I wondered about the dangers of feeling free. Am I setting myself up for another awful shock? Are these pains I feel in my chest and my neck something gravely significant -- the dreaded nightmare that "it's back"?!? It's come back in so many others, so why wouldn't it come back in me? These thoughts haunt me. Then I hate myself for thinking such negative things. And I wonder if my chest hurts because of the kyacking.

This blog is D+ material but I'm going to publish it anyways. I'm going to publish it because no one ever told me that there could come a time when I become scared of not being scared. But since that's happening to me, perhaps it's happening to others. And even if it's not, I'm sure others nearing their cancer-versary would agree -- it can be such a difficult and complicated time, and hearing others admit that is sometimes all you need to feel like the heavy burden is just a little bit lighter and easier to handle.