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As a breast cancer team, we talk about cancer frequently. There is tremendous value in sharing experiences and information about treatments, products, and services in a healthy and positive way. But other than the off-hand comment or joke, recurrence is not something we talk openly about. Perhaps it is reserved for more private, over coffee conversations or smaller car-pool chats. I suspect that it is a common fear among us but I don’t really know to what extent it fades or heightens over time or how it’s different for those at stage 0 versus stage 3.

I envy those who, post-treatment, can take a “no evidence of disease” or NED status, as “cure” and who can park cancer thoughts in the far back parking lot and move on. I am not able to do that. (Perhaps I am being naive that anyone ever really moves on.) My knowledge of my high risk of recurrence stays with me. A glimpse of my mastectomy scar as I get out of the shower, or a damn pink ribbon on my package of lettuce, are constant little reminders that register to my subconscious. While the return of cancer is on my mind, it doesn’t haunt me in a depressive way or negatively impacts my daily life. Like a song I can’t get out of my head, or a word I can’t quite remember, recurrence hovers just under the surface of my daily thoughts.