Whenever I stayed in the hospital, I always brought the same vanilla-scented shower gel with me. I loved it. But I don’t use it anymore. The smell reminds me of my hospital room and everything that happened there. I tried using it again recently, just to push myself a little. If I had to use it, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. But I don’t like the smell as much anymore, and it makes me uncomfortable. So I simply stopped buying it.

It’s similar with a certain song. Every time I was on my way to the hospital, I would listen to it because, somehow, it calmed me down and helped me come to terms with whatever might be waiting for me. I don’t listen to that song anymore either. I figured it had served its purpose.

I was told that the chances of my cancer returning while I’m on maintenance treatment are very low. Well, I thought that the chances of getting cancer was were very low and here I am… But it did calm me down. I’d also been sick for the past few weeks, so I hadn’t really been thinking much about my upcoming scan. No anxiety, no overthinking.

Last Friday, on my way to the hospital, that very song started playing through my headphones. This time, I didn’t skip it. I let it play. I wanted to see whether I really was as calm and okay as I thought I was.

Well, I wasn’t.

I switched to another song, but by then it was too late. I was standing outside the oncology building, hyperventilating. I was breathing really fast, yet somehow I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. Tears were rolling down my cheeks.

I did my breathing exercises, which helped ground me and calm me down a little. The nurse drew my blood, I was given contrast dye through an IV, and then I went into the room with the CT scanner. As they started moving me into the machine, the tears came again. And there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t completely fall apart, but I certainly didn’t manage to stay calm either.

That day, I realized that I’m still afraid. Not of dying. But afraid nonetheless. And I realized that I haven’t completely put it all behind me yet.

I do think, though, that it’s a good thing I’m not hiding from it. I keep challenging, testing, pushing myself to go through these experiences and come out on the other side.

My shadows aren’t chasing me anymore. They’re walking beside me.

It’s also a reminder that you don’t have to completely get over something before you can start moving forward. You don’t have to be fully healed before you’re ready to face the world again.

Healing and living life to the fullest can go hand in hand.