This week, I had my yearly oncology appointment in Fargo. I took the afternoon off from work and drove up there alone. I have no concerns, so I didn’t really need anyone with me. I already knew my latest MRI was clear, my A1C has been really good, and aside from some extra tummy weight – I’m in pretty good health. I don’t know how many times I’ve walked into the Roger Maris Cancer Center since December 9, 2014. It’s quite a few, that’s for sure. I honestly felt like this would be the last time. I parked my car in the ramp and I paused on the sidewalk. I asked for God to be with me and for my angels to surround and protect me. There is a lot of dense energy in a cancer center. A lot.

I checked in and took my spot in the waiting room. I glanced around the room, noting that I was still one of the youngest people there. I opened up my Colleen Hoover book and didn’t get very far before I heard her call my name. She weighed me in the hallway (which I’m not a fan of), and walked me back to the room. The last several times I’ve been there, I was in room 7. This time, I was in room 9. “Something is different today,” I said to myself with a hopeful grin. I got asked all of the standard questions and she left. My doctor came in shortly after, shook hands and opened my chart. We went through the last scans, talked about my blood sugar levels and general health. He handed me the pink gown for the last time and stepped out of the room. Nothing concerning happened during the exam. The lumpectomy site is still tender, more than 8 years later. I just avoid sleeping on my stomach. Otherwise, things were good.

“I don’t think you need to come back here, unless you have any issues or concerns. Feel free to reach out though if you do.” Music to my ears. If you would have asked me 8 years ago if I would feel comfortable ending my oncologist visits before 10 years was up, I would have said you’re crazy. But today was different. I felt a confidence I didn’t know I had. I felt a sense of relief and gratitude to be able to close this chapter. I shook his hand again and said, “I hope I don’t see you here again. No offense.” No follow up appointment to schedule, no half day to figure out with work and other activities. This was it. I got dressed and walked out of room 9.

I walked out of the cancer center as a man was helping his frail wife. They had used the valet and were waiting for their car. As I walked past them, I hoped that she would one day be able to say good bye to this place too. I walked towards my car and figured I should document the sign. And I took special note of the “exit only” part. Yes, I will be only exiting today. I’m ready to be done. As I sat in my car, tears filled my eyes and I wasn’t really anticipating the emotions I was feeling… relief, gratitude, closure, joy. I texted my family and some friends and told them the good news. A sigh of relief.

Some people don’t like the phrase cancer journey, but I do. I think of it as a journey because there are twists and turns, highs and lows, mountains and valleys. It’s so much better if you’re able to have someone along with you on your journey and to have a great navigator. I feel like cancer took things from me: confidence, physical changes, time with my family, changes in my personality & the loss of some friends. But, it also gave me things: importance of self care, a spiritual community, the ability to ask for help, renewed relationships, and my renewed love of writing. I am so thankful my chapter has ended how it did. I know not everyone has a happy ending, and I’m grateful mine is. I honestly felt like I set down the baggage when I walked out of that building and felt more free.

Will I stop writing about this? Probably not. But I’m in maintenance mode now. It’s different. I’m not sure how to explain the shift, but it certainly has shifted. If you’ve been though this journey with me the whole time, thanks for sticking with me. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. Now that this chapter is done, I feel like I can move forward with writing my next book. It will be a healing process and probably difficult to relive some of those memories, but good will come from it.

I wish you peace on your journey of enough. Hug your loved ones, take care of yourself and get your yearly screenings done!