It had been four weeks since my last radiation.
I had a follow-up appointment with my radiologist. He’s a little odd, but very smart. And honestly, I didn’t even really know why I needed to go see him. Everything had been looking normal, and I had just been there the day before for immunotherapy treatment.
But I went anyway.
It was at City of Hope now instead of Arizona Oncology, so everything felt a little different, new paperwork, new process, the usual questions you answer over and over again.
I changed into the paper gown, sat there, and waited.
When he came in, it all felt pretty routine. He looked at my left side, where my cancer was.
Checked under my arm. Looked over my latest blood work.
Nothing felt different. Nothing felt like this was going to be the appointment.
And then he looked at me and said the four words I had been waiting an entire year to hear:
“You are cancer free.”
Just like that. Followed by, “I’ll see you back in six months.”
I think I was in shock. I honestly felt like I might fall over.
There was no big build-up. No dramatic moment. Just those four words, said so casually, after everything my body had been through to get there.
I didn’t expect to hear that that day. Not like that.
I actually took a picture of myself in that room. I’ve never done that before. But something in me needed to capture it. To hold onto the moment in a way that felt real. I even kept the paper gown.
Which sounds strange, but if you’ve been through this, you understand.
It wasn’t just a gown. It was the moment everything shifted. Being told you’re “cancer free” doesn’t suddenly make everything feel normal again.
It doesn’t erase what your body has been through, or take away the side effects. It doesn’t instantly give you your old life back. Because while those four words are everything. There’s still a whole other side of this.
There’s:
- the neuropathy
- the fatigue
- the physical reminders that don’t just disappear
There’s the mental side too. The part where you’re trying to process everything you just lived through, while also being expected to move forward.
You wait so long to hear those words, and can only imagine what it will feel like.
You think it will be this huge, emotional release. And it is. But it’s also quiet. Almost surreal. Like your life just changed again, and you’re still catching up to it.
I am incredibly grateful. That goes without saying. Those four words meant everything to me.
But I also know this: Healing doesn’t end the day you’re told you’re cancer free. In a lot of ways, it’s just a different part of the journey.
I’m still healing.
Still figuring out my body. Still managing things I didn’t expect. Still learning what this “after” actually looks like.
If you’ve heard those words, or you’re waiting to. Just know this, you’re allowed to feel all of it.
The relief. The gratitude. The confusion. The exhaustion. All of it.
Because being “cancer free” doesn’t mean the experience is over. It just means you’re stepping into the next part of it.
And that part deserves just as much understanding as everything that came before.
