Four years ago, on Sunday, September 8th, 2013, I was diagnosed with Stage II Hodgkin's Lymphoma. While I've discussed in detail how it feels to be a cancer patient, I've now come to understand that several things happen when you're multiple years out from such a diagnosis. Here are four things that have happened four years post-diagnosis.

1. You get your hair back

When I was a junior in high school, I had hair that fell halfway down my back; then I got a nephew. Man did that little 2-month-old tug on my hair! I thought, well, perhaps I should cut it so that this doesn't happen. My hair then started getting caught in machines at the gym, even while in a ponytail, which only supported my decision to chop it off. So by the time I started my senior year, half the hair I'd had was gone. A year later, having had short-ish hair for far too long, I decided I wanted to grow it out again. Then life was like "Ha! Nah, honey, you're actually gonna lose it all!" What a cruel fate!

Losing my hair was one of the many hardships of having cancer, and it's something I cried about frequently. I still remember the day it started to fall out, and how long it took to get all those stray hairs out of my sheets (five rounds in the washer and dryer, and a whole new set of sheets). I had very short hair for a long while there, but four years later, my hair is very nearly the length it was before I cut it that summer. My hair is darker, thicker, and a bit wavier than it was before chemotherapy, but I love it nonetheless.

2. You learn to reminisce about it

Every year around September, my mom and I start talking about those six months: from my diagnosis, to my last post-chemo Pet/CT, and everything in between. There are many parts that hurt to think about, like finding out I couldn't go back to school and having anxiety nausea/vomiting. However, there are also many stories that make me laugh. For example, a little over two months into chemotherapy, I had surgery to put in a port for easier chemo access. On my eighteenth birthday, just two months prior, I had gotten my belly button pierced, and didn't think I should take it out for the surgery. The surgeons, however, disagreed. While I was under anesthesia, they removed the ring and, having put it inside one of those urine sample cups, took it to my mother...who had no idea I'd even gotten it pierced.

The next morning, having recovered from surgery and received my chemotherapy, I noticed my belly button ring was gone when I got hungry and rubbed my stomach. I panicked, called my nurse and, having contacted the team who had operated on me, she discovered that it was in my overnight bag the whole time. My mom eventually asked me about it, which is how I found out she knew. I had been so worried she would be upset with me, but she just laughed, "Honey, there are bigger things to worry about right now." It cracks me up that I tried so hard to hide it from her for so long when she could not give less of a crap.

3. You stop feeling nauseous every time you see a giant chocolate chip cookie...

...or Panda Express, or Jamba Juice, or hot chocolate, or any of the other many foods you ate during or after chemo and then promptly threw back up. It's interesting—and by interesting I mean utterly disgusting—how once you taste something in reverse, you can't really look at it the same anymore. It's also interesting—and I really mean interesting this time—the kinds of foods we'll eat during chemo. I suppose cancer patients are sort of like pregnant women in that aspect, except cancer patients ONLY eat those items, mostly because they cannot stand the smell or sight of literally anything else. I remember eating corn dogs, ice cream, and poptarts on a regular basis because that's what I could eat without vomiting. Even toast was difficult sometimes.

For a long time, I couldn't stand the sight of any of the foods I ate during those six months. Now, four years later, I can finally eat poptarts, I sometimes am able to stomach Panda Express, and giant chocolate chip cookies are my ultimate weakness. It's really nice to be able to smell hot chocolate and not want to find the nearest restroom because of it.

4. You stop feeling like a cancer survivor

Going through something like that is traumatizing to say the least, but it's not forever. Six months after my diagnosis, I was done with chemotherapy, but I wasn't done with cancer. I had to wait many more months before I was healthy enough to do much of anything. A year after my diagnosis, I was finally back at school. Eighteen months after my diagnosis, I was finally healthy enough to get my first tattoo. Two years after my diagnosis, I stopped having so much trouble with my words when I spoke, wrote, or even thought. Now, four years after my diagnosis, even though I have four Relay for Life shirts that prove otherwise, and even though I still have to visit my oncologists every so often, I don't feel like a cancer survivor.

I'm alive, and for that I am utterly grateful, but that girl who turned18 and was promptly driven to UCSF Medical Center in an ambulance feels like a different person. She is a part of me, but she does not define me. Now, I'm a 22-year-old English Major with concentrations in Writing and Communication at University of the Pacific. Now, I'm the editor-in-chief of our Pacific/Delta community here on Odyssey, as well as an intern for Vacaville Magazine. Now, I'm an Event Security Officer on campus and a Brother of Omega Eta Epsilon—a professional language, literacy, and culture Greek Organization at Pacific. Now, I'm a healthy, happy human being just trying to live my life to the fullest.

So many events occur in our lives that shape us into the people we are, but they do not define us. My life is not that of a cancer survivor, it's just the life of me, and that's all I could ever ask for.