8 years in remission

I have a friend who, like me, celebrates remission from cancer at this time of year. I mark the date from when my oncologist showed me a series of CT scans that proved to his surprise that "even the scar tissue is shrinking." My friend marks his date from when the bone marrow donated to him began to work.

We chatted the other day. He says he doesn't think about the cancer much. It was a pivotal time in his life, obviously. He doesn't think, though, about the fear of being told he was likely to die. Instead he talks about how he eventually discovered the cancer was caused by toxins in his environment and how that led him on a career path of environmentalism.

My response was that I do think of cancer... not all year long, certainly not daily anymore. But I have always been an intense person with intense emotions and thoughts. Some comments I've been told over the year are that I "always have a pot boiling" or "need to lighten up." When I talk about my experience with cancer, though, no one says those things to me. And at this time of year, during the remission anniversary, I think about it a lot.

When I had cancer, I was convinced that it would bring me a kind of enlightenment and wisdom that I didn't have before. I suppose it did a little, but I'm still not sure how to define what I gained. And I have unresolved anxieties and anger too, mainly resentment towards people who seem to live their lives so flippantly, then are shocked when someone else suffers a tragedy, as if they never considered it actually could happen to them.

This year to celebrate I have written a rather long essay trying to explore these issues. If you wish to see it, please let me know.