After Cancer Treatment Ends, “Now What?”
All smiles on the outside, “what the fuck?” on the inside.
The last day of cancer treatment is supposed to be a milestone, a release, and a relief. So why did it fill me with pure terror?
Flash back to fall of 2017. It’s been months since my breast cancer diagnosis. I’ve made it through a bilateral mastectomy and the first few rounds of chemotherapy (TC).
November 2017 is coming up, and so is my fourth and final round of TC. But instead of counting down the days like a normal person would to make things seem easier, I find myself counting up to my last treatment day.
Where is my feeling of relief? Why am I in a complete and utter panic?
Released Into the Wild
In the years since that time, I’ve found out I wasn’t alone in the feeling I described above. But I definitely didn’t know that at the time.
I had been thinking about that day in November 2017 for months, wondering what it would be like to be released back to my life. I had spent months with my life planned around doctors’ appointments, transfusions, side effects, nausea and everything in between. I knew what to expect out of every day and every appointment. And I knew exactly who to call and what to do if something unexpected came up.
The thought of that coming to an end was gloriously terrifying. As the day neared, I would feel a small wave of relief that treatment was ending. But the wave of relief was quickly replaced by a sheer panic tsunami and a question: What the fuck now?
What’s the Plan Here?
Are you a planner?
I’m not a planner. I envy planners. I think life would be so much easier if I were a planner. But no, I’m a roller. I just roll with most everything, for better or for worse. But as my treatment was coming to an end, the only thing I found rolling was my stomach over my pants. (If my husband didn’t already think I was dead sexy for having no hair, sprouting 13-year-old pizza-face zits, and beads of sweat on my upper lip from hot flashes, surely would push him over the edge!)
I tore through the “Breast Cancer” binder I had received the day I first met my care team. I was frantically searching for, “What to do when treatment ends.” Surely that would be in there, right?
It was like finishing a Jodi Picoult novel, when you are left staring at the last words and thinking, “No, that did not just happen!”
Nope. I didn’t find the info I was looking for. Not in that big binder, not on hospital websites, not in various blog posts I found filled with words like “survivor” and “warrior.”
And on my last day of treatment, I was met with a giant smile from my angelic doctors and a scene that went like this:
Doctors: See you in six weeks!
Me: Mumbles confused noises under breath.
I wish it had gone like this instead:
Doctors: See you in six weeks!
Me: I’m sorry, did you just say, ‘See you in six fucking weeks?’ Because I have questions. Like what am I supposed to do about my stomach literally hanging over my pants? And why does walking up stairs feel like walking up Mt. Everest? And what am I supposed to do at 3 a.m. when I am convinced I am going to die and my husband is happily sawing logs next to me? And what do I do when I stare at someone like a deer in headlights because I can’t think of a goddamn vocabulary word? (That’s my favorite, by the way.)
In other words, “What is my plan?” Because the only plan this nonplanner had at the time was to:
Panic, I’m excellent at panicking. Don’t even try me, you will lose!
Cry wherever, whenever, in front of anyone. Not everyone has that skill! (Thank you, hormones, you assholes.)
Put one foot in-front of the other because, you know what? My shoes were the only thing that still fit!
But seriously, what now?
What Now and Why You’re Here
“What now?” may be the question that led you to this website. It’s definitely the question that led me to create it. I’m using this site to help people deal with a lot of those same issues I went through, everything from chemo fog to sex and relationships to why the hell you’re sitting in the car crying before your first day back at work.
Like I said, I’m not a planner. But maybe with some of the info you find on this site, you can be.
