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.

March is Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month.

So let’s start with this:

Get your bootie scoped. Seriously.

If you’re 45 or older, or you’re having concerning symptoms, please talk with your doctor about colorectal cancer screening.

Do not wait.

It took me more than a year to finally get my colonoscopy, and colorectal cancer is not something that only happens to older people.

Early detection matters.

A Negative Signatera

Now for my personal update as I head into my final FOLFOX chemotherapy infusion on Monday.

I just received the results of my Signatera blood test.

Signatera is a personalized circulating tumor DNA test designed to look for tiny fragments of DNA from my specific tumor circulating in my bloodstream.

My result came back negative.

No circulating tumor DNA was detected in this blood sample.

That doesn’t guarantee that there is no cancer anywhere in my body, and it doesn’t tell me what will happen long term.

But right now?

It’s encouraging news.

My labs have also been holding steady, and my CEA tumor marker remains normal. I’ll have another round of labs tomorrow before Monday’s final infusion.

The Honest Part

Chemo is cumulative, and these last few rounds have been the hardest.

Neuropathy is creeping in.

Fatigue is constant.

Getting enough fluids down is still a daily battle.

My body is also still healing from radiation in the background, while chemotherapy continues to ask more of it.

Mentally, these last couple of treatments have been tough too.

I think when the finish line gets close, your brain finally has enough room to realize just how much your body has been through.

But the end of this phase is finally in sight.

I Miss My Life

I miss my business partner and my team more than I can say.

Realistically, I know I’m not going to finish chemotherapy on Monday and magically wake up Tuesday as the person I was before treatment.

I’ve lost muscle.

I’m weaker than I’d like to admit.

I’ve spent months asking my body to survive radiation and chemotherapy.

Recovery is going to take time.

We’re currently remodeling our warehouse, which will eventually become my new office. It will give me a place to ease back into work while still having some space from the public as I recover.

And I am so ready for that.

Ready to work.

Ready to rebuild.

Ready to get out of my bedroom.

Ready to be part of the world again.

Another Small Win

My bowel symptoms are improving week by week, even while I’m still going through chemotherapy.

I’ll take every win I can get.

I’m hopeful.

I’m also a realist.

My cancer journey isn’t over. There will be scans, surgery decisions and years of surveillance ahead.

But I don’t need to solve all of that today.

Right now, the goal is very simple:

Finish chemo on Monday.

Then begin the long road back to strength, work, travel and normal life.

Looking Back

This one is hard to read now.

Not because anything I wrote was wrong.

Because I didn’t know what came next.

On March 5, I had a negative Signatera result. My CEA was normal. I was approaching my final planned FOLFOX infusion. My bowel symptoms were improving.

Those were real pieces of good news.

And I let myself feel them.

I’m glad I did.

I don’t want hindsight to steal that moment from the woman who was living it.

A negative ctDNA result wasn’t a promise. I understood that even then. But after months of treatment, it was something tangible that pointed in the direction I desperately wanted to be going.

So I started looking toward life after cancer treatment.

My office.

My team.

Travel.

Strength.

Normal.

I thought I was approaching the end of the hardest part.

I didn’t know there would eventually be viable tumor remaining in the tumor bed.

I didn’t know surgery would ultimately show cancer in four lymph nodes.

I certainly didn’t know that months later I would find myself confronting a positive ctDNA result and another stretch of uncertainty.

None of that makes the hope I felt on March 5 naive.

That’s something cancer has taught me since.

Good news is allowed to be good news even when you don’t know what happens next.

A clear scan is good news.

A negative blood test is good news.

A normal tumor marker is good news.

You don’t have to diminish today’s good news because tomorrow might contain something different.

Because the opposite is also true.

Bad news doesn’t get to erase every good thing that came before it.

On March 5, my Signatera was negative.

My labs looked good.

I had one chemotherapy treatment left.

And after everything my body had endured since October, I could finally see the edge of treatment.

That was worth celebrating.

What I Know Now About “Normal”

I wrote that I wanted to begin the road back to strength, work, travel and normal life.

I smile a little at the word normal now.

I thought normal was somewhere behind me and that recovery meant finding my way back to it.

I’m not sure that’s how this works anymore.

Cancer changes things.

Some temporarily.

Some permanently.

And some in ways you don’t understand until much later.

Maybe healing isn’t getting all the way back to who you were before cancer.

Maybe part of it is discovering who you are after everything you’ve carried through it.

On March 5, though, I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.

I had one job left.

Finish chemo on Monday.

And that’s exactly what I intended to do.