What now?

It's all a bit confusing. They said it would be - but I didn't quite expect the confusion to set in quite this early...
I went to see the Great Man today. It wasn't much of a meeting, to be honest... The clinic was running late, very late, I was last in and was getting slightly fractions by the time I was called. Due to having a) instructions not to drive for two weeks after surgery and b) no car as we lent it to the in-laws while theirs is broken, I had to beg said in-laws to drive me to the hospital. Seeing as how they both turned up I thought it would be rude to take a book, assuming that we could catch up with the family gossip while we waited. Trouble is, they had both brought their books and, not wanting to crowd me, they said that they would wait in the car while I went in. So I ended up sat in the waiting room for an hour and a half with no book and faced only with the last month's copies of What Ho? magazine (or whatever it's called).
Anyway, by the time I went in I was a bit fraught, and had forgotten everything that I wanted to say. He greeted me with a big sunny smile, and said "Well, you know all the good news already!" which stopped the conversation a bit. So he asked politely if he could have a look at the scars - as though he thought I might decline! He was very pleased at the lack of swelling, which I had been panicking about, and said that he'd fully expected to see a seroma (swelling due to fluid build up) bigger than a tennis ball. Glad he didn't mention that before I left the hospital! He'd said he'd expected to see something but no sporting equipment was mentioned... He puts the good result down to regular doses of Arnica, and is determined to run a proper trial.
So I was up and dressed in a trice and he said "We've referred you to the Other Great Man for the radiotherapy, but you've done all the hard work now. Fantastic result. I will see you in six months. Have a lovely Christmas" The Breast Care Nurse handed me a sheaf of paper and said "Here's your five-year plan" as I walked out of the door. I was in, seen, out and next appointment made in about five minutes flat.
As I walked out of the waiting room, all I could think of was "Is that it?". I don't know what else I was expecting... there's nothing much else to say at this point, but I still feel a little... lost. Abandoned. I know I haven't been abandoned, and there is no logic to this feeling. I suspect that this feeling will fade as soon as I get the appointment to see the Other Great Man (the Oncologist) and get onto the radiotherapy treadmill. I know that I can call and make an appointment to see the Breast Care Nurses any time I want, and I will have to do so because I didn't ask a couple of questions that I had meant to. They say it's very common to feel like this when the treatment is over... but I am just having a short break in mine, there is more to come.
My daughter made a comment about this the other day, and I think she may have something... she said that if you're living with a long-term health issue, it's easy to find that you define yourself by that condition. It's part of what makes you special, and you're also made to feel secure by having people like The Great Man and my Lovely Breast Care Nurses to look after you. Have I become addicted to being a cancer patient? I think I need to put a stop to that right now.