This post is part of my Cancer & Healing journal, an archive of the updates I wrote while going through treatment for Stage III rectal cancer. These entries reflect what I knew and felt at the time.

Well… it’s been a minute.

Quick little life update because apparently I like to keep things interesting.

The Scope, Biopsies and What’s Next

I had my scope on Thursday.

Biopsies were taken, and we should have the results back in about a week.

Based on where things are right now, surgery is most likely in my future.

Now it’s just figuring out what kind.

And here’s the part no one really tells you:

Finishing chemo doesn’t mean you’re done.

Not even close.

It’s just a different chapter.

There’s still a long road ahead with surveillance, surgery and all the what does life look like after this? conversations.

Cancer doesn’t just sit quietly in a corner either.

It drags everything else in with it.

The stress.

The emotions.

The what ifs.

The family dynamics.

The mental load.

It all stacks.

Sad, mad, anxious, grateful, exhausted…

Sometimes all before lunch.

Because Apparently Cancer Wasn’t Enough

And because life has a sense of humor, the last week decided to really show off.

We found out we need a new roof.

Of course we do.

We finally replaced our drain field after a YEAR of design and county approval.

A year.

And yes, it had to be a special system because apparently that’s just on brand for me right now.

Then we had an absolutely terrible experience with a local plumbing company.

Truly.

I don’t know how some of these service businesses are still standing.

Unprofessional. Incomplete work. Can’t follow basic instructions.

It’s wild.

So yeah…

I’m ready to close the door on this week and not look back.

But There Is Something Really Good Happening Too

The bright spot?

We start setting up and moving into our second R. Rebellion location in Joseph, Oregon later this week.

And if you’ve ever been there, you know.

It’s one of the most beautiful places on this earth.

So we keep going.

One step at a time.

Even when the road feels long.

Looking Back

There is a sentence in this post that I understand much better now than I did when I wrote it:

Finishing chemo doesn’t mean you’re done.

At the time, I meant there were still scans, biopsies, surgery decisions and surveillance ahead.

I don’t think I fully understood yet how long cancer can remain part of your life even after the treatments end.

There is this idea of a finish line with cancer.

Ring the bell.

Finish chemotherapy.

Get the scan.

Have the surgery.

Get declared NED.

Move on.

I desperately wanted a finish line.

Instead, I was beginning to discover that cancer is made up of a whole series of thresholds.

Finish radiation.

Start chemotherapy.

Finish chemotherapy.

Wait for scans.

Get scoped.

Wait for biopsies.

Meet with the surgeon.

Decide on surgery.

Then whatever comes after that.

Every time you cross one threshold, you can see another one in the distance.

The Waiting Is Its Own Thing

By April 25, I wasn’t actively receiving cancer treatment anymore.

But I wasn’t free of it either.

I was waiting.

Waiting for pathology.

Waiting to talk to the surgeon.

Waiting to find out whether surgery was definitely necessary.

Waiting to learn what kind of surgery it might be.

Waiting to understand what my body and my life might look like afterward.

There is an enormous amount of waiting in cancer.

And waiting sounds passive until you’ve actually done it.

It isn’t.

Your brain keeps working even when there is absolutely nothing you can do to make the answer arrive faster.

You run possibilities.

You make plans for outcomes that haven’t happened.

You prepare yourself for things you hope you won’t need.

Then you try to make dinner or answer an email or deal with the plumber like you’re a completely normal person.

And Regular Life Keeps Happening

That’s probably what strikes me most reading this now.

Cancer wasn’t the only thing happening to me.

The roof still needed replacing.

The drain field still had to be installed.

The plumber could still piss me off.

The business was still growing.

We were opening another store.

There were things to worry about and things to be excited about, sometimes on the exact same day.

I think I once imagined that a cancer diagnosis would put ordinary life on hold.

It doesn’t.

Life keeps barging through the door carrying groceries and bills and broken plumbing and work deadlines and beautiful things too.

And maybe that’s not entirely bad.

Because while I was waiting to find out what cancer had planned for me next, something else was happening.

We were opening a store in Joseph.

Cancer was still there.

But so was my life.

And my life was still growing.

One Step at a Time

I ended the original post with:

So we keep going. One step at a time. Even when the road feels long.

I wouldn’t change a word of it.

I didn’t know exactly where that road was going yet.

I just knew I wasn’t done walking it.