Goliath's toll

I don't know what Goliath's final toll on my life will be, but I do know that I can never go back to the way things were. This experience has been rich, to say the least, but something about referring to my brush with cancer as an 'experience' makes me feel terrible. To put it bluntly, I could have died. I could have had neurological or physical complications from the surgery or one of a million other possible conditions, but I don't. The fact that I've come out of this so similar to the way I waltzed in--as a fully feeling human being--is frankly astounding. I don't know who to thank or how, but I feel like I've just won an award for living and it guarantees me a new lease on life. The only problem is that now I have to live with a new lease every waking moment. I can't slip up and get jaded and bored like I did before; that just doesn't seem right--at all. Of course I'll have bad days where I feel next to terrible, but I can't let myself fall into the pit of darkness that I emerged from in late December. It just wouldn't be fair to myself.

So now I'm left to recover from this situation. If chemotherapy/radiation is needed then I'll have to take that step in the course of time, but as for right now, I don't need any further thought about whether or not to get surgery: it's done. I've bought myself one thing that I just wasn't sure if I had before: time. Goliath's gone, and hopefully he won't be returning, but only I can ensure that he never returns. Because if he does, there will be some serious hurdles for me to tackle. Though I feel like this experience has prepped me for those hurdles, a second bout with cancer (which some would say is inevitable for the survivor) would send me into the throes of a battle from which I may never return. It's scary, I know, but for now, I can claim a certain degree of victory over Goliath. We'll see what the doctor says on Monday (the day of my post-op appointment), but I've got my fingers crossed for a clean bill of health. Wouldn't that be fantastic?