Finding My Voice - A Journey Through Cancer

I remember truly little about the hours and days that followed my cancer diagnosis. The mind has a beautiful way of shielding us from what is too much to bear.

That Breast Cancer Awareness Month in 2019 was different from all the others. I was alone the October afternoon I learned I had breast cancer.

It was one month before my 39th birthday.

I remember one doctor reviewing my medical history and telling me I was one of the healthiest people he knew. Evidently not, though.

Isolation rushed in.

If I got engaged, married, or became pregnant at 38, there were a dozen friends I could call to ask for advice. Those who had been there before.

I had no one to call about cancer.

No one my age who knew what this was like. This was a road I had to walk alone, fighting to carve out a crooked path through the wilderness where no one had gone before me.

Some days.

On other days, it felt like I had been drop-kicked over a cliff.

I caught cancer early when I noticed some changes in my skin. It was also not aggressive, both of which can be rare for someone under 40. Short of not having it all, I was told I had the best possible scenario.

I ached for something better. A different story.

Not only was I alone amongst my friends, but I felt alone even in this new community of survivors. I was not about to join a support group and spew my raging emotions over my diagnosis amongst a group of twenty- or thirty-somethings with more advanced stages than me.

I finished treatment two days before the whole world locked down. Fighting cancer was hard. Processing the fight against the backdrop of a global pandemic was just as hard.

Trauma on top of trauma.

During the many months I battled this, every day had its agenda: a doctor to see, a treatment to follow, a plan to attack. I was under the watchful eye of an expert. I felt looked out for, not so alone.

But when it ended, I was released back into the world - a world I didn’t recognize - with no experts constantly checking in, no action to take. Everyone around you moves on, assuming you are done, but you’re never really done. This is when the real works begins.

What comes next? I found myself alone on that road again.

Now, more than a year-and-a-half later, these are some things I would tell the me who just got diagnosed, the woman who is just starting her journey, and the friend or family member who would like to better understand:

There is no “easy” cancer. Each instance is as unique as a fingerprint. And each diagnosis brings with it struggles and changes that can alter a life forever. Countless as the stars in the sky are the nuances to a cancer survivor’s experience. Survivor’s guilt is real, but don’t let it stop you from processing the way you need to. If someone you know has been diagnosed, throw out the “everything happens for a reason” and “it could be worse” cliches. You’ve entered unchartered territory and it’s best to leave reasons and comparisons at the door.

Be kind to yourself. A cancer diagnosis brings a whole new meaning to the “self-care” trend. Now, more than ever, give your body what it needs: rest and love, healthy food and, where possible, less stress. Maybe there’s some deep emotional healing that needs to occur or boundary lines that need to be redrawn. I leaned on my faith in a way I never had before. It proved sturdy when everything else felt uncertain. The reset button has been hit for you. Take advantage and take a look at any unhealthy habits; the things that are within your power to control - mind, body, and soul.

Grief is not linear. One day you’re fine, the next you’re not. It may feel like you’ve rounded a corner towards emotional wholeness, and then you’ll spend a week thinking things will never get better. There is no straight superhighway through grief. And it’s not a race to see who can reach healing the fastest. If you need to cry, do it. Feeling angry? Feel it. And if you’re supporting someone going through cancer, just know it takes time.

Be your own advocate. Speak up where you need to. Ask questions when it doesn’t make sense. Explore other options when the ones presented don’t fit who you are. This is how I learned a better way to take care of myself. Some of these conversations will be really hard, but not as hard as having cancer and you’re already doing that. No one knows your body like you do and you will be faced with choices that will affect the rest of your life. Honor what you value when it comes to your health.

The only way out is through. I wish I could snap my fingers and magically transport you to the other side of this where you are better and happier. Free from constantly looking over your shoulder with every ache and pain. Less bruised and scarred. But I can’t. You will be brought to the edge of yourself and back again. You will lose a lot. You will gain some things, too. You will find what matters and discover new passions. You will raise your voice - for yourself and for others - and learn to live intentionally because that’s what matters in the end. But it won’t happen overnight.

Be gentle. It’s a journey.

The only way out is through.