Fortunately, I don't visit often. When I do, I get a tingly feeling as I approach the long, winding driveway up to the hospital. You may think it's a bad tingly, but it isn't. It's something akin to nervous excitement - let's call it nervous contentment.
For those of you who know me (and those now finding out), I made many visits here from December 2012 to the spring of 2013. I had a room nestled in the Frank Lloyd Wright-ish nook pictured here. It was winter in Pennsylvania, and I felt comforted and cared for immediately after my initial (most major) surgery.
I thought that coming here after I was clear and healthy would seem surreal. What continues to shock the hell out of me is that every time I enter Fox Chase Cancer Center, I have only the most positive feelings.
My dance with cancer exists an integral part of me. One that I don't sweep under the rug, nor shout from the rooftops. But there is no denying the space it occupies in my being. Choosing, from the start, to use this life experience as an opportunity for immense growth has left me with scars I sort of like to look at. Imprinting in your 40s - that's surreal. Humbled. Always.