Man, it’s been a year. Not one I’d care to relive, but one that I’m thankful I experienced. I’m so relieved it seems to be wrapping up nicely, from all indications.

I saw my cardiologist recently, after having a follow-up echo to see if my heart functioning had improved at all. I wasn’t too worried, since she had said that I could live a long and normal life regardless of whether or not improvement was shown, but worried enough to want to know. It has normalized. Still not back to where it was, but within in the normal range. And there’s no reason why it won’t continue to improve. So now I can continue to take Tamoxifen, the medication that blocks my estrogen receptors (since my cancer was estrogen-receptor positive, meaning estrogen promoted its growth), have my port removed, and move on with all things unrelated to cancer. That feels pretty damn good.

When I told my mom, she asked if I was going to continue to blog. Right then, it hit me that I think I’m ready to be done. I think I’m ready to return to a life of private thoughts and feelings and events. Besides, at this point, blogging would just be me sharing my reactions/thoughts/feelings to random events, which feels a little self-important, after a year of feeling too-much-in-the-spotlight. I’m not sure why it feels self-important, since I don’t have that reaction to other blogs, and in fact I enjoy reading them. But when I think about continuing, it just doesn’t feel right. Maybe I need to move on from this year? Maybe continuing to blog feels like holding onto something I’d rather move on from? I’m not sure. I’m just going with it, and reserving the right to change my mind at any time.

I probably will update for major events, like if and when I decide to do reconstruction. No, I think I can take the “if” out. I think it’s when I decide to do reconstruction. Right after my mastectomy, I thought that maybe I wouldn’t go that route. I didn’t hate my new body like I thought I would, and something appealed to me about walking the talk about body diversity. Owning my new, interesting look. But the other day it hit me: I don’t love my new body, either. It’s a pain to find clothes for. And I’m not sure I want to be the poster child for body diversity. I mean, let’s be real, it’s not like reconstruction is going to make me 5′ 9″ and a size two. I’m still going to be all scarred up. I will continue to have the world’s shortest torso and a thicker middle than clothing designers think is reasonable. So, I’ll still be supporting the sisterhood, regardless. I won’t be a total sell-out. I’ll just, you know, be able to find a swimsuit and buy a dress off of the rack. Surgery was the easiest step of this process for me, so I think I’ll just go for it. Since I refuse get implants (I don’t need anything else in my body that doesn’t belong there, thankyouverymuch), they will will reconstruct breasts using tissue (read: fat) from my abdomen. I’ve been saving up for just such an occasion! And since I’m unlikely to lose weight while on the Tamoxifen for the next 5-10 years, it appeals to me to just re-shuffle what I’ve got. It’s like a redistribution of wealth, only just within my own body. Quite progressive, if you think of it that way….

I’m not sure if this will happen in a few months or a few years — I have a few important things going on this summer that I’m not willing to budge on (unless life intervenes like it did last year). But I’m pretty sure it will happen, and I’ll let you know if it does.

Until then, though, I’m feeling content living a normal, quiet, cancer-free life, free of the turmoil and drama of last year. With a much greater appreciation for the sweet people around me.