I have been taking a breather in the Pacific Northwest, saying ‘yes’ to any and all invitations, seeing some beautiful country, reading voraciously, submitting, doodling. If I am honest, I am processing a lot of changes that happened in the month of June. I wrote about my son’s marriage and my creative nonfiction award but I had one more milestone; for the last six years since my carcinoid cancer diagnosis my routine has been MRI-bloodwork-exam; the first three years/every three months, the next three years/every six months. This changed on June 5th, when my oncologist smiled and proclaimed “see you in a year.” My reaction was unexpected.

First of all, this is a ten year tumor watch. So for the last six years I have had to work on managing what seemed like a very long exposure to fear, expectation, pre and post anxiety, some months better than others, because those appointments seemed to run together with hardly time to take a breath and be well in between. I have had good IV nurses and ones that had to be replaced after the fifth try. I have been hot, cold and sick from the dye tests. I have learned to ask questions even if I piss people off and wait patiently for answers to be found, shivering in a paper gown. Eighteen times buckled into the older, tighter MRI technology that took 45 minutes to scan until this spring when I was surprised to walk into the room and see a shiny new machine sporting a big blue ribbon. Turns out I was one of the first to slide into the newest state-of-the-art MRI machine — roomier, lighter, noisier — that cuts the scan time in half. “Proactive” has been a journey of both faith, acceptance and perseverance.

My reaction that I would be released for twelve months from this routine was visceral.

First, my whole body went cold. Then my face got hot. The tears — yes, ugly-cry ones — sprang. I laughed and apologized then said “that feels scary.” Because until that second I hadn’t realized all those appointments — no matter the sleepless nights and fearful days awaiting results — were my safety net. They were all I had, while I waited to see if more tumors were growing. Seeing him more often, I had the advantage of frequent information to take immediate action. One year?

There was a silence. “Your numbers are good,” he repeated. He sat back in his swivel chair but what I saw as clear as it was real; my oncologist sitting forward and throwing his arms high, opening his hands to release something folded tight in his palms. I watched wings explode and beat the air, a bird flying free and upwards into the sky. Whatever you want to think about this moment of drama I can tell you; that was my heart, friend.

One month down and not counting. That is the freedom. That is the fear. That, reader, is the new reality of wellness for me.

My family rides for the PanMass Challenge in a few weeks, raising money for cancer research on team Crus11Tour. Friends, family and I have directly benefitted from the money raised. I will be ringing a cowbell extra hard at the rest stops for all that cannot be with us and my new timeline, thanks to efforts like this.

Stay cool, treat yourself to good things, take time out. Life is short, good and full of blackberry milkshakes.