Living fully, even with treatment in the background
The Fade-Out When I was first diagnosed in January, the world rushed in. Messages, meals, flowers, check-ins. People I hadn’t heard from in years showed up like it was a homecoming. And in a way, it was—just not the kind I ever wanted. There was urgency in the air. An unspoken pressure to “do something,” To make a casserole, send a card, show love quickly—publicly—before the moment passed. And then the moment passed. And I am still here. Chemo and Surgery came and went. The scans, the waiting, the pathology calls. Recovery moved in quietly, settling into the corners of my days. And I went quiet too. I haven’t written in weeks—not because I didn’t want to, but because the story I thought I was telling took a turn I didn’t expect. The shock of diagnosis, the rush of plans, the endless appointments and changes in my body—those were loud, almost easy to share, wrapped in sarcasm, with your tears and laughter alongside mine. This part is quieter, and it’s harder to find ...