One Year

One year ago, reeling from pain and fear, I wrote my first blog post. I hoped for the best, but was ready for the worst. I prepared myself for the possibility of death, and thought about what I needed to do before I died.

It was a year of sickness and side effects, recovery and hope. Days when I couldn’t get out of bed, and was too sick to care. Chemo, surgery, and radiation, punctuated by umpteen gazillion doctors’ visits and tests.

A year I never wanted to happen — but I lived through it, and it’s over. The worst is over.

My prognosis is good. I’m still in chemotherapy, but it’s the lighter protocol and I’m no longer sick. I’m a little tired, but I’ve learned not to push.

Neuropathy (numbness of hands and feet) is improving with medication. I hope for a complete recovery, but it will take several more months of pills to know for sure.

Mostly I look forward to more energy and less doctors’ visits. (Only three next month!) I look forward to health, and being able to plan and enjoy my life.

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I’m writing less frequently because there’s less drama in my life. I have at least four more good ideas for blog posts which I’ll roll out over the next few months, so I’m not done here yet!

Author: MeredithLaskow

Artist, writer, and unrepentant nerd girl.

11 thoughts on “One Year”

  1. Thank heavens you are feeking better. You are a champion. A fighter. A heroin in this sea of turmoil you were flung in to. I love and respect you so much and am thrilled to hear thinhs are looking positive for you sweet girl. ❤️❤️❤️

  2. A hearty hug and grateful heart from Cuba, heading home tonight. I love that you have made it through to this side of this horrendous year. ❤❤❤❤

  3. Meredith, I know what you mean about the experience feeling surreal. From my own time of tragedy, trauma, and trial years ago, the memories of the hospital stay, the struggles, and the sufferings are almost non-existent. I think it is a form of self-protection. Also, hope and optimism probably keep us separated from certain experiences we do not have to feel a part of, really.
    Much as I have loved and admired your writings here, I am glad you do not have much to say on this topic now! (Haha). (Or should that be “HAH!”? as in “I win!”)
    I am still cheering for you from the wings, joyful you are nearing the finish line! much love.

    1. Kathy, I remember everything — which is not the same thing as feeling detached. Writing brings not only catharsis, but the ability to travel back to moments which defined our life.

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