Cancerversary: 3 months since Diagnosis Day

So. three months ago today was Diagnosis Day. I found out that I have glioblastoma, an incurable brain cancer.

In the last three months, I've had surgery to clean an infection, been hospitalized twice, completed six weeks of chemo and radiation, dealt with some truly terrible nausea, discovered allergies to two different antibiotics, and found out enough of the pathology of my particular tumor to know that things will be difficult in the future.

In the last three months, The Husband has taken me to the beach thanks to a generous donation from his very kind coworkers, taken me to the mountains thanks to a discount from Hotels.com that we did not expect, even though I slept the whole time we were there, bought me any food that I might tolerate, taken me to a comedy show, and been my rock, my angel, my foundation through all of this hell. Seriously. I love that guy.

In the last three months, I've lost hair, I've lost weight, and I've lost patience with myself and with others. I don't think I've lost my temper, but I've come close.

In the last three months, I have cried like my soul was being ripped out of me one strand at a time. I have laughed so hard it made my surgery scar hurt. I have ranted and raved, vented, and yelled. I've had meltdowns, breakdowns, hysterics, panic attacks, and everything in between.

In the last three months, I've thought long and hard about who I am. About what makes me me. I've thought about what it means to be a friend, a sister, a daughter, a wife. I've thought about relationships that surprise you and relationships that plug along exactly as expected. I've thought about expectations of myself, of The Husband, of those people I choose to allow around me. I've thought about the value in keeping some and the value of letting some go. I've thought deeply about the value in putting up some boundaries.

In the last three months, I've rekindled relationships with a surprising number of people. As a pessimist by nature, I've never really had high expectations, but what I've found is that people will surprise you every time.

I've thought about my limits, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual. I've reached those limits. I've disappointed myself. I've made myself proud. Sometimes on the same day.

In the last three months, I've discovered that stubbornness and spite will take you a long way, but it won't always take you the whole way.

In the last three months, I've fought to be more than this diagnosis.

In the last three months, I've experienced loneliness and overwhelming support. I've struggled to keep my spirits up, and I've done pretty well, all things considered.

In the last three months, I've sworn at almost every single healthcare provider I've seen (I don't like needles, and no, it's not the same as getting a tattoo).

In the last three months, I've realized that no matter how hard I try to be more than my diagnosis, this thing in my brain will always be there. It doesn't make me who I am, but it is a fundamental part of who I will be. Cancer changes you.

In the last three months, I've learned the hard way that cancer changes everything.