The Swim

A summer's daydream that carried me through

I started chemotherapy a few days before Christmas. I had wrapped all the children’s presents in advance and ordered the beef for the holiday lunch. There was a small fake tree at the hospital, its branches glossy and smooth, and a basket at reception full of cheap baubles, free for anyone to take. I chose a midnight blue star.

As I sat in the leather recliner, a tube dripping bright red liquid into my chest, I looked out the small window at the bare trees and gray skies, and I dreamed of summer, when this would all be over.

What followed were dark days and long nights, as I trudged through appointment after appointment. I would dress carefully each morning in my chemo uniform of choice—soft, cotton sweatpants, a tank top for easy port access, a sweater, bright red socks (I needed to infuse joy somewhere), and fur-lined Birkenstocks. I’d then layer on a mustard-yellow beanie and a thick wool coat.

Still, the cold air when I stepped outside was always a surprise, and breathing in felt like sucking on a mint.

The routine was the same. I would sit in the chair and gaze out the window while the medicine entered my body. The air was stale and smelled of disinfectant and reheated hospital food.

On one of these mornings, I pictured myself on the beach, running into the sea as if away from it all. That image started to come to me each time I sat in that hospital chair. I began adding more detail. A white swimsuit with red polka dots, sandy toes, a sailboat floating by as I swam breaststroke through the waves. The metallic taste in my mouth was replaced by the salty freshness of the seawater. The fluorescent light of the hospital room swapped out for the sun’s rays.

This daydream was both an escape and a promise—that my suffering would have an end date, and I would step back into the familiar flow of life once again.

I was still undergoing chemotherapy in the spring. Now, I watched as the oak trees outside the hospital window sprouted new leaves, neon green in the morning light. I started to leave my wool coat at home.

Chemo ended in May, and in June I started radiation. Five sessions a week for five weeks. Most of them fell in the early evening. I would kiss my kids and husband goodbye as they set the table for dinner, and drive the twenty minutes to my appointment. It was a different hospital this time, modern and white. Now I wore sleeveless tops and no bra—easier to whip off before lying under the radiation machine.

I came to cherish those drives. As I passed fields of tall grass, scattered with yellow and white wildflowers, I blasted Sabrina Carpenter and Chappell Roan and Charli XCX. It was Pop Girl Summer, and their anthems carried me through the final leg of active cancer treatment.

I was driving past bucolic meadows, but my thoughts were on the sea. I had been to the beach a few times already, but I hadn’t yet had the swim. That would need to wait until treatment was well and truly over, after my final radiation treatment.

That day came on July 27, 2024. The next evening, I celebrated with my family with a big plate of linguine alle vongole at a local Italian restaurant, followed by dark chocolate gelato. It was perfect.

The idea of a sea swim had sustained me through some of the hardest months of my life. But the summer was ticking by, and soon we’d be leaving on a trip. So one morning, I put on a swimsuit, threw a towel in a bag, and drove out alone to the beach. It was the height of summer, but because it was early in the day, it was still relatively quiet. A few striped umbrellas dotted the sand, and some bronzed twentysomethings knocked a ball around with beach bats. I spread my towel out, kicked off my sandals, and undressed.

I looked out at the sea—it was exactly as I’d pictured it. The sun sparkled on the water, and the sand was warm and soft beneath my feet. I could smell the coconut-vanilla scent of sunscreen. I wore a simple black one-piece, not the white and red polka-dot bikini from my dream. But it didn’t matter. I was finally here.

I was tentative at first, dipping my toe in the water. It was cold. I breathed in, and as I exhaled, I started to wade in, deeper and deeper, before fully submerging myself. I came up and immediately went under again. And then I lay on my back and floated, gazing up at the wisps of cloud. I can’t say how long I stayed that way, but it was a while. The water cradled me, gently rocking me back and forth.

I could hear the sounds of children playing and people laughing. I flipped onto my stomach and started slowly swimming back to the shore, to rejoin everyone enjoying just another day at the beach.

I had made it back.