On This Somewhat Happy and Auspicious New Year.

It's a new year with cancer.

Just in writing that I feel anger, waves of sadness, some relief, the grey pallor of a new normal filtering the day. And if you're reading this perhaps you've either had it, or know someone who had it, and in either case it's a different kind of new year than BC, Before Cancer.

People talk about resolutions. In my case it's one word: "survive." I finished treatment last January but, given my diagnosis, there is "high risk" of recurrence, and every ache, every pang can lead to a spiral of OMG it's metastasized anxiety, complete with repeated advice nurse phone calls and bouts of depression. I'm learning to manage that, but it's a process.

When you have lost a breast or breasts, and you have finished treatment, what do you resolve to do? Here are some thoughts for this 2018 new year.

1. Begin to love the mute pucker that was my breast.
Is that too graphic? I am sorry. But there it is. It is scar tissue, folded like two lips covering missing dentures. It is a cavity, the wink from a death cult I must face every day. Because I do not like surgery and am at risk for lymphedema, and have also not cleared the 5-year window for Triple Negative survival, I am not getting reconstruction. I may not ever. So, I am learning to accept this gash, this cut, this scar, this line, closure, wound, sealed letter, removed IV, shut lid, mailbox, stubborn- toddler- not-speaking, inner life, hum-thrum lapsed Catholic revelation unasked-for tattoo forever embedded on my chest.

2. Try to trust the world again.
Oh, this one's tough. Cancer knocks that ship over and forever causes you to test the tilt of the floor below your feet. How long will I live? Should I get new clothes, save? Buy a trip? Plan for (a purchase, remodel, retirement, savings, next-year-whatever?) It is a cruel thief of optimism and hope. And so, slowly, slowly, I am going to begin to re-enter the field of possibilities, but --- and we know this, don't we? --- I will never look at the sun again. Mortality will always be the skeleton below my skin, knocking around every once in awhile or showing up with a ledger, just to check. And yet, going on is going on. And there are others: you, sisters and brothers (metaphorical and real), people re-entering and entering all the time. There is a pool of companionship that cancer can bring, a kind of camaraderie that even with the breath-holding fear, such as Emily Dickinson writes "zero at the bone," helps us move through. And so I will continue to walk forward, watch my step, and ask for help as I need it. And offer this hand to you, too, traveler.

3.Balance health with sanity.
The fear of food, chemicals, and certain lifestyle habits can strangle the enjoyment out of life. I have erred on the side of caution, but would like some more balance. There is some grieving for the loss of my old treats: wine/alcoholic beverages without worry,  sugar without care, buttercream frosting, Swedish fish, orange slices, IKEA cinnamon rolls, green tea lattes, Baskin Robbins ice cream, fried chicken, creme brulee, jelly beans, --- this list is a waterfall of goodbye indulgences. The thing is, I never ate much of these. I ran 5- and 10k races, drank green tea. But......well, goodbye. Mostly. I must reduce the already-reduced list. The good news? I can amp up good vegetable and fruit recipes, explore new cooking techniques, raid the farmer's market for the latest seasonal treasures. That, too, is sanity. I also remain committed to the idea that nothing, in moderation, is off limits. I must survive, but I must also live.

Dear reader, what are your ways to move forward? How will you return to your life? I wish you all, all, a year filled with new treasures, that may first be covered with dirt but that after digging yields sweet surprise. Love out.