Through What Exactly?

I was given a book titled Just Get Me Through This, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago.  I was stage IIb at that time.  Get me through it.  Got me through it.  It was helpful in going through emotions and types of treatments even after I suddenly slipped into stage IV.
   I did get through it.  I had chemo over a six month period, multiple surgeries, lost my hair, lost my breasts (one twice,) and popped up on the other side of the waterfall in a big ol' comfy life raft.  Little did I know that I would be getingtrhoughit over and over again.  This is what stage IV means. 
     There are many oxymorons in stage IV cancer of any type.  There is sort of an excitement during chemo; lots of support, cheerlaedering, goals, and a celebration (sort of) in the end when you getthroughit.  Yet, who wants to go through chemo?  No one.  There is the excitement of getting the stamp of approval for N.E.D.  Yet, there is a bit of the let down when the cards stop coming and the cheerleaders go home.  It is similar to being a movie star with all the paparazzi.  Then suddenly, the paparazzi finds interest in the new young thang and stop hounding you. Yes, they were annoying and what a relief to go shopping without your make-up and body guard.  But, where did they all go?  Does anyone care anymore?
    Sure they do care. 
    The oxymorons pop up everywhere and happen to about any survivor.  It is part of what the psychology community call survivor guilt...and we aren't talking about only cancer survivors.  Today, I spent my two hours in infusion talking with three survivor friends.  And, we all share these feelings as we wait for our scan results.  Will they show one more thing I have to survive through, or will I be given my free ticket to soar beyond cancer for another six months? 
    Watchful waiting.  That is what our doc calls it.  This translates into: I know you will have a recurrence, it could be tomorrow or twenty years.  But, it is going to happen.  We are waiting for it.
     Alas, I am happy to report that all my scans and tests show that I am S.E.D (Slight Evidence of Disease.)  Yes, we stage IV survivors coined that term today, and it will be published in my dictionary of cancer terms right after chemocation.  See, I still have a speck of tumor still sitting between my ears on top of my brain stem like a diamond on a royal septor.  We are watchfully waiting.  Watchful waiting for it to blossom once more.  It will happen.  I don't know when.  It is like living in California.  There will be an earthquake, we just don't know when.  And this waiting is exhausting.  So excuse me if I feel like crying instead of jumping for join to be S.E.D.  Okay, maybe I will jump for joy after I sleep off my Benadryl stooper.   Okay fine, you talked me into it...jumping now.  I am jumping because the day is so beautiful, and I am not dead today.  That is enough to jump for, right?
    There is a title of a book sitting in the oncology waiting room:  Living with Cancer.  "Hi, my name is Sara.  Do you want to live together?  Oh, you say it is a life-time contract?  I am not too sure I am okay with that.  Oh, you will go on vacations frequently?  That would be okay.  But, you will also come back?  I guess I can getthroughit when you return.  Just don't stay too long, okay?  And, don't leave me too tired from cleaning up your mess when you leave."