Battle-scarred but not battle-weary

I've now been back at school for two weeks and have had some time to gather my thoughts. The step back into "normal" life, while much anticipated, was a big one, nonetheless. Buoyed up by the use of the word "excellent" by my surgeon and my oncologist, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and moved the first foot forward.

The most interesting thing is becoming aware of how the cancer experience has changed me. I find my priorities have changed and my feelings about some things have intensified. Time-wasting would be the thing that gets me most incensed. When you have come to a realisation of how precious each day is, you can't stand it when others want to squander your time. This made me so outraged during an after-school meeting at the end of the first day that I left the meeting early.

I also noticed myself feeling very isolated during those first few days and this has been aggravated by the huge changes made to our school timetable this year. I miss the friends I made at the clinic during treatment. I miss that instant understanding that exists between cancer patients. I protected my friends and colleagues at school from the seriousness of my battle by maintaining my smile and telling lots of jokes. I didn't visit when I was so fatigued during Taxol that I slept most of my days away.

This feeling has diminished as the days have passed, but will never completely go, I think.

I find I am getting my physical energy back. During the first few days I would get puffed out by the walk along the corridor to my room. Yesterday I noticed that it was almost gone. At the end of the first few days I was really, really tired and needed a "nanna-nap" before I could summon the energy to cook dinner. Yesterday I had no nap and went out for dinner with my language-teaching colleagues. I'm getting there and, in fact, I am surprised that I haven't felt as fatigued as I expected.

Something that has amused me is the questions the kids have asked. They are braver than the adults in asking the unaskable, even though they become very awkward when they ask. One boy, whom I have taught since Year 7 and is now in Year 11, said when I saw him in the yard, "And how are...Are you....Is it...?" I laughed and said, "I'm not going to die , Alex. The doctors can't tell me I'm cured, but they've both said "excellent" when they've examined me. I believe I'm cured and I believe that the cancer won't come back."

This is what the people in your life want to know but are afraid to ask. What I told Alex is what I believe.

So, with every day, I'm feeling more a part of my old life. I just have some cosmetic changes - one less breast than I used to have and a few interesting scars gathered along the way.