Normal is my middle name

On Monday my oncologist called me normal.

Me! Normal!

I don't feel entirely normal. Maybe normal-ish. Looking in the mirror no longer gives me a fright, so I've stopped wearing scarves and hats indoors. I'm taking only one regular medication (for the numbness in my fingertips that just won't quit). I'm not in pain and I'm not anemic so my energy level is better than it's been for the past three years. I'm not spending all my spare hours hanging around the cancer center--no chemotherapy, no radiation, just occasional CAT scans and blood tests.

And the numbers on my blood tests are downright boring: normal, normal, normal. My white blood count is still a little low, but it's on the way up. "You probably just got some radiation in your bone marrow," says the oncologist. "Nothing to worry about. Perfectly normal."

All my life I've wanted to be exceptional, extraordinary, way beyond average, but these days I'm happy to aim for the mundane, the ordinary, the boring middle ground. Cancer treatment was an extraordinary experience that I hope to never repeat, and now that it's over (for now? forever? who knows?), go ahead and call me normal.

Well, maybe normal-ish.