Two years ago, Dr. S. informed Rob and me that I had leukemia.
Having been involved in the young adult cancer survivor / fighter community for the past two years, I've had the opportunity to hear the stories of many new friends. The moment of diagnosis, and the days immediately preceding and following, are almost always the focal point of their cancer experience. Because that's when life irrevocably changed; it's the event they wish they could undo. And because it was traumatic: it's hard to forget trauma. When I hear my friends' recount their experiences, I recognize their emotions, because they're the same as mine.
Two years post Lily's death and my near-death, I'm still trying to process it. Perhaps the constant fatigue and all the drugs prevented me from facing it head on. Perhaps it's a touch of post traumatic stress syndrome. I wash my hands in an airport bathroom, and the smell of the soap reminds me of the soap in my hospital room, and it takes me back to that time. I see a baby girl, and think of Lily. But it's not just physical reminders; I'll have a moment of panic while walking to the subway or folding laundry.
