Adrift

So, I saw my surgeon on Friday.
I almost didn't, because Providence was a suckfest of traffic that day and it took me 40 minutes to go from Branch Avenue to Eddy Street.
For those who know RI, 40 minutes is what it usually takes to travel the state from end to end.
Seriously.
Anyway, he examined me, told me that I looked good, was apologetic over my needing chemo ("I really thought you wouldn't, but this is why we do the Onco test...so we KNOW,") told me to hold off on weight lifting, told me to stop being hard on myself ("The weight will take awhile to come off. Be patient!), told me that my bouts with exhaustion are normal ("Your body has been pretty beaten up.") and then made my mammogram appointment for April. He smiled and asked if I had any questions or concerns.
I said I didn't.
HAH! There isn't gonna be a day that goes by that I won't be "concerned" that cancer has come back to claim me...but no...no questions.
And then I left.
And then, as I walked to my Jeep, I realized...
I was kinda...done.

I was DONE treatment. My next appointment is in March with my Onc and then the April Mammo.
I am technically not a cancer "patient" anymore.
Well, I still have the 5 year maintenance plan: I have about a month and a half of Tamoxifen under my belt (and more hot flashes than I can frigging count, to prove it) but, there's no "active" treatment.

I am adrift.
I am terrified of calling myself a "survivor," as I may tempt fate.
So what am I?
I mean, what am I besides a slightly overweight, buzz-cut sporting, scarred up, marginally lopsided woman with doubts and fears and concerns?


I know this sounds weird, but to me, this is almost scarier in some ways than active treatment...I'm an action kinda girl. Problem? Fix it.
I don't understand "waiting it out."
I am a doer, not a waiter.
Waiting requires patience.


WTF is patience?



Patience is that thing cancer is gonna try to teach me, isn't it?