What If?

What if chemo doesn't work? What if it comes back? What if I hadn't been diagnosed when I was? What if I hadn't been pregnant and had an ultrasound? What if the fertility doctor had done my surgery instead? What if they didn't get every spot? What if the chemotherapy (chemo) didn't kill every cancer cell? What if... What if...

Bet we could all sit around and go through more and more what-ifs. In the life of a cancer survivor, these questions are always popping up. Not only when you're diagnosed but months and years after. The questions may change, but the feelings accompanying them don't.

My questions were simple at the start

In the beginning, my questions were seemingly simple. My what-ifs were easily answered or calmed by my doctor or personal support team. They mostly centered around the initial shock of diagnosis, treatment, and the immediate life after chemo. The questions and what-ifs came fast and furious after my last 3-week appointment.

We get so used to seeing our lab techs, receptionists, CNAs, nurses, and oncologists at regular intervals. My appointment 3 weeks after I was done with chemo was a huge blow to my confidence. My what ifs became what now? Who was going to keep an eye on my body, which had already betrayed me once? How would I live without seeing all these medical people every 3 weeks? What if it came back? What if I got sick again?

Ever so slowly, these new questions and what-ifs fell away as I got into a new routine with my now normal. I saw my oncologist every 3 months, then every 6 months, until at my 5-year check, I went to once a year!

How could he do this? What if it comes back? What if I don't know if something is a symptom or sign of recurrence? What if there are still cancer cells floating around in my body, just waiting to land and grow?

The what-ifs never really go away

Now, close to 9 years post-diagnosis, I know the what-ifs aren't going to go away totally. With each passing month and year, the questions have changed but never gone. The major anxiety of not seeing my oncologist more often has somewhat gone away.

Each twinge of new pain or ache doesn't immediately have me running to call the oncology office. I now keep track of these things, write them down, and call only if the ache/pain lasts more than two weeks.

How do I manage these what-ifs?

I've learned to further grow the relationship with my primary care doctor. She knows my concerns and is confident I know my body. She's open to my calls and fears when I need to have someone look at something that may not be major. She knows sometimes a cancer thriver might be a bit crazy and driven when convinced the cancer's back.

Next, I started seeing a counselor to help in dealing with anxiety, depression, and grief.

We also discuss the what-ifs. She has shown me how to turn the bad what-ifs around. Instead of what if this is cancer again, I take a deep breath and ask what if it's just a stomach ache?

"Cancer, you can't take any more of my life"

Lastly, I keep in front of me the profound words of a fellow ovarian cancer survivor.

When I met her, I was only 8 months out of treatment, and she was in the middle of fighting her second recurrence. We met at a conference. I was full of my "normal" week before my upcoming 3-month appointment with my gyn/onc anxiety. She looked me in the eye, then said, "Debbie, why are you letting the cancer take more from you than it already has? By thinking and worrying about if it's back, you are giving it more power to take away your happiness and life. If it's there - it's there. Worrying about it won't make it go away. Enjoy your days and life."

I may still have times of what if, and I'm sure you will too. In these times, I let the questions come, then look them square in the eye and say, "Cancer, you can't take any more of my life from me."