March 1, 2026 - 5 years ago today, I rolled into an operating room with my boobs, and a few hours later they were gone. As far as I know, my cancer went with them.
I found myself in a national park on March 1 in 2022, and decided to maintain the tradition of celebrating each milestone at a park. This year, I honored the day in Joshua Tree National Park, amidst the cholla cacti, the Joshua trees, the mountains and desert, and grateful as always to be alive to celebrate.
But there's a darker side to the passage of this time, and I've written about the burden of late recurrence before. For many cancers, a 5 year mark with no evidence of disease is as close to being "cured" as one can be - it's when insurance no longer considers cancer a "pre existing condition" anymore, because after 5 years of being cancer free, the assumption is, you're good to go. And for many cancers, this is true.
My crappy, less common, less studied, and less understood breast cancer isn't the 80-90% of diagnosed breast cancers - it's a sneakier, more sinister subtype that has the sad distinction of INCREASING risk of recurrence later and later. So at 5 years, when most survivors can celebrate, I know that my real risk is just starting. The risk will continue to rise and be ever present for at least 20 years - the longest recurrence I've read about is 23 years after diagnosis. Think about that: diagnosed at age 45, I might have a recurrence of my breast cancer at age 65, 70, 75. I will most assuredly live long enough to have that recurrence, provided something else doesn't kill me first. One rogue cancer cell that hid in my bone marrow, or lymph node, that left my breast before it was removed, can turn into metastatic cancer years or even decades later.
This is an incredibly difficult mental burden to bear. There is NEVER a reprieve from the fear of recurrence, and there is never an actual "in the clear", "cured", or "cancer isn't coming back" moment. While life moves on, people forget, and think everything is back to normal, it isn't. I've written before about the "after" cancer fallout on body, health, sexuality, and the invisible scars of cancer treatment that no one can see, but that are very much present for years after treatment ends. But the fear of recurrence, fear that every ache or pain is cancer, fear that cancer cells are still lingering - that just continues to grow, with each passing year, and with increasing risk.
I'm grateful to be standing on top of Warren Peak 5 years later, and to still be saying Fuck Cancer loudly and proudly. For today, I'll take the win. But inside, I'm as fearful as ever, and struggling to manage that ever present fear of recurrence.
