My twelve-month visit to my gynecological oncologist, though brief, was brief.  Meaning, he under-charged me again (this time lower than last time) and my weight and blood pressure are “text-book perfect,” but I forgot I had to have another pap smear and (though I thought I was getting out of it) another ultrasound.  Part of me is disappointed, because I just finished paying off my pathology bill and wanted to feel good about that for a while, but part of me wants the gravity of these things.  I had cancer, and I want to remember it, I want it to not fade away and become unreal.  Is it strange that I want to celebrate being alive by going back to the places where I was so afraid, going back to the same offices and procedures but with the knowledge that life is still as fragile as it was, but also still as rescued?  Thoughts.

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