Ten years. A decade. Double digits. However you frame it, it’s a huge milestone—one that comes with a mix of emotions: joy, gratitude, anxiety, and even a tinge of fear. For me, this milestone brought me face-to-face with a new challenge: going in for a colonoscopy. It’s symbolic, it’s necessary, and it’s terrifying. But, above all, it’s a testament to survival and the importance of preventative care.
Looking Back: Cancer and the Battle for Control
When you’ve fought cancer, every medical procedure has layers of meaning. The memories of my initial diagnosis and treatment feel both distant and strangely vivid. During that time, prepping for anything—a surgery, a scan, or even a simple blood draw—felt like walking into battle. You’re on high alert, not knowing what’s next, but bracing for the worst. The prep process back then was overwhelming, emotionally and physically draining, and a stark reminder of how little control I had.
Fast forward to now: I’m cancer-free or NED (no evidence of disease) or in remission – whatever you want to call it. But that doesn’t mean the nerves go away. This colonoscopy wasn’t my first, but it carried a weight that felt new. Ten years after cancer, every appointment feels like a checkpoint, a moment to confirm that everything is still okay. And let me tell you, that kind of waiting doesn’t get easier.
The Prep: Managing the Physical and Emotional Load
Let’s talk about colonoscopy prep. It’s not exactly anyone’s favorite way to spend a day, but it’s necessary. For me, the hardest part wasn’t the prep itself but managing the emotional toll alongside the physical discomfort. Running to the bathroom every 20 minutes? It’s inconvenient, sure, but manageable. What’s tougher is sitting with the nerves—the “what ifs” that creep in when you’re already exhausted and vulnerable.
This time, my husband and I decided to book a hotel near Mayo Clinic. It was a practical decision—I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle the hour-and-a-half drive to the hospital while mid-prep—but it ended up being a small act of self-care. Having a quiet, comfortable space to prepare helped take some of the edge off.
By the time I checked in for my appointment, I was running on very little sleep (thanks, bathroom breaks, and nerves), but I was as ready as I could be.
The Procedure: Finding Moments of Connection
If there’s one thing that made this experience better, it was the incredible staff at Mayo Clinic. From the moment I walked in, the nurses made me feel at ease. They were kind, attentive, and—most importantly—human. We joked, we laughed, and they reminded me that I was more than just another patient on their schedule.
Before the procedure, there was the usual whirlwind of questions: which medications work for anesthesia, which don’t, and a review of my medical history. When you’re 10 years post-cancer, that history is long and complicated, but the staff handled it with care and thoroughness. They listened to me, took my concerns seriously, and made sure I felt safe every step of the way.
When it was time to go under, I trusted them. I don’t remember much about the procedure itself (thank you, anesthesia!), but I’ll tell you this: apparently, I was cracking jokes as I woke up. At one point, the nurses had to call my husband to pick me up at the curb as I was asking for them to “bring in the dancing girls.” What can I say? Laughter has always been my way of coping.
Why 10 Years Matters
Ten years is more than just a number. It’s a milestone that represents survival, resilience, and hope. For cancer survivors, these anniversaries carry a lot of weight. They’re a reminder of how far we’ve come and how much we still have to fight for—not just for ourselves but for others who are still in the thick of it.
Preventative care is a critical part of that fight. After cancer, it’s easy to feel like you’ve been through enough—like you’ve earned the right to skip the uncomfortable stuff. But the truth is, post-cancer check-ins are even more important. They’re how we stay vigilant, how we catch things early, and how we take control of our health.
Finding the Right Care Team
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned over the past decade is the importance of having a care team that truly supports you. Back when I was first diagnosed, I had an oncologist who made it her mission to give me high fives during every post-treatment appointment. Those high fives were more than just a gesture—they were a symbol of progress, of beating the odds, and of having someone in my corner who genuinely cared.
Since moving to Florida, I haven’t been able to see her, but her approach left a lasting impact. It’s not just about finding doctors who are good at what they do; it’s about finding people who see you as a person, not just a patient. People who cheer you on, respect your input, and make you feel like an active participant in your own care.
My Message to You
Whether you’re a cancer survivor (I prefer the term warrior) or not, here’s what I want you to take away from this: preventative care matters. It’s not always fun, and it’s rarely convenient, but it’s one of the most important things you can do for yourself.
If you’re post-cancer, don’t skip your check-ins. I know they’re nerve-wracking. I know it’s tempting to put them off. But these appointments are how we keep moving forward. They’re how we ensure that the milestones keep coming.
And if you’re lucky enough to have never faced a cancer diagnosis, take this as a reminder to prioritize your health. Schedule that colonoscopy. Get that mammogram. Go to your annual physical. These small steps can make a massive difference.
Celebrating Life
Ten years later, I’m still here. I’m still fighting, still laughing, and still finding joy in the little things—like cracking jokes in the recovery room and celebrating milestones with the people I love.
Life after cancer isn’t always easy, but it’s full of opportunities to grow, to heal, and to make the most of every moment. So here’s to more milestones, more preventative care, and more of the good stuff that makes life worth fighting for.
