I’ve been wanting to post again for a while now, but it seemed, I don’t know, self-indulgent or something? I don’t have the need to give anyone health updates anymore, and I really should be doing other things (so yes. I’m currently avoiding school stuff. Shocker). But lately the urge is getting more intense. Something about the time of year, and how different it is than last year, and how the last of my big one-year anniversaries are coming up, or how 4 people I care about have been diagnosed with cancer lately, and it’s breast cancer awareness month, so pink ribbons are everywhere… everything cancer-related is on my mind more than usual lately. Whatever the reason (probably it’s a combination of all the reasons), I have a recurring thought that pops randomly into my head throughout each day:

A year ago I was bald.

That’s a powerful image for me. Because it’s not just my bald head that is conjured up for me, but the feeling that the bald head carried with it. This combination of feeling loved and lonely in the way that only facing your own mortality can make you feel alone. And scared. And tired. And not myself, in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. And all the words that describe the type of sick I was — I’ve used them more times than I care to, and don’t really want to again. And grateful for so much.

But that was last year. I’m not that same combination this year. I’m still some of those things, maybe even all of them at different times, especially when I let myself consider what it might be like to relapse. Day to day, though, I’m good. That’s not a big enough word, really, to describe how I am. My life feels full, in a really wonderful way. I feel productive, capable, constantly delighted by my friends and my sweet family, strong, happy. And yes, scared and stressed. A lot. But the scared and stressed are due to problems I yearned for last year. I’m scared about what this next year brings — not in terms of my health, but in terms of the next step in my education and career. That’s a great problem to have, and I’m grateful for the privilege to have that fear. Really, I’m quite a lucky woman.

So. What was the tipping point of writing this post, other than finally giving in to temptation? Well, like I said, all things cancer related have been on my mind lately. And it’s breast cancer awareness month. I guess, I just keep thinking about how lucky I am, and how although I don’t wish I never had cancer, because it brought a lot of really lovely things and people into my life, I never want to put the people I care about through that again. Nor do I want more of my family and friends to be diagnosed. Unfortunately, over 232,000 new cases of invasive breast cancer in women and over 2300 in men are expected to be diagnosed this year. Just this year.

So for breast cancer awareness month, I’m not going to ask you to wear a pink ribbon, or post one on your Facebook page. I’m not even going to ask you to donate money toward breast cancer awareness. I’m certainly not going to ask you to be any part of the donation machine that contributed to the ridiculous and insulting pink drill bits used for fracking. I’m just asking (actually, I’m begging, shamelessly begging) you to check yourself. If you don’t already, make this the month that you start regular self-checks. If you’re a woman of a certain age (I’m looking at you, over 40), make this the month you schedule your mammogram. And yes, they aren’t comfortable. (Okay, they just downright hurt. If I’m being completely honest, the last time I had one, I snapped at the sweet older lady who was my mammogram technician that I was certain that the inventor of the mammogram was a man, and that I’d like to give him a testicular exam using the mammogram machine. She didn’t seem to know how to respond.) But do it anyway. Do it for yourself and your peace of mind. Do it for your family and friends, and to avoid watching them hurt and fear for you. Do it so if there is something there, you can find it early, before it becomes invasive, one of the 234,300. It’s the invasive cancer that, I promise you, you want to avoid.

I’m not bald anymore. My lumpy/dented (that debate was never settled) head is thankfully covered with a full head of hair. I’ve got my life back, plus some. The changing of the seasons, though, takes me right back to last year, when I was just about to finish chemo and lose my breasts forever. It takes me back so quickly to that huge mountain of emotion, always just below the surface. I’m glad it does. Because it reminds me that I’m alive, and to do everything I can to avoid becoming a new statistic again, myself.