One day in August, a close friend and I were on a walk at the park. We both had chaotic years growing up, in different ways, but still felt like we spent so many years like we were constantly surviving. While on this walk we both paused and looked at each other and said, “Wait. Are we HAPPY?” A realization that life was finally stable and good. So, so good. We were no longer in survival mode, but yet, really truly safe and happy. Life was calm.
Three weeks later, I got a breast cancer diagnosis. Stage 2b, grade 3, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.
Because I have a dark sense of humor, I had a moment when I laughed. Just three weeks prior, I had put it out in the universe that I was truly happy. I was at peace in therapy and with my relationship with a family member. My kids were doing well at school and with friends. We had a close knit group of families that provided the friendships we needed – for us as adults and our kids. My husband had just changed jobs that benefited our family. Life was good.
But, there it was. Cancer.
I took the news fine. I had moments when anxiety and fear took over during that first week. But, despite not knowing the extent or prognosis, I was ridiculously calm. I never had a moment of, “Why me?” But instead I told myself, “Why not me?” I, like you, am not immune to cancer and the number of people diagnosed with cancer each year is in the millions.
I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t afraid for myself. I can be at peace that I have lived a YOLO (you only live once) type of life. I took the trips, I celebrated everything. I started a photography business and became a published children’s book author. I have put myself out there and made my dreams and goals happen. I have lived a life that I am proud of.
Cancer and Life
I was given a lot of crap for being “a stay at home mom that just sat around and spent my husband’s money.” I struggled with that for 12 years, if I’m being honest. Every time I heard that comment (and I heard it multiple times over those 12 years), I knew what I was doing with my kids was important and it worked with our family. When facing a diagnosis with a potential death sentence, I knew there was no better way for me to have spent those years with my kids. I was privileged to spend the last 12 years at home with my kids.
In the moment of getting my diagnosis, I had absolutely no regrets about staying home with my kids. IF this cancer was going to take me out, I didn’t have regrets about the time I spent with my kids. Or the trips we took. Or the money I spent.
At that moment, I knew I had lived a full life. Isn’t that the goal?
I am so proud of the life I have lived. The things I have accomplished. The laughs I’ve shared. The time spent with people who make life enjoyable. I have no regrets or “wish I would’ve” things. I definitely have a list of “I wish I wouldn’t have” though.
A few of the “I wish I wouldn’t haves” over the last 39 years that I won’t do with the time I have left are:
- Measure my success based on other people’s ideals
- Worry about everything
- Waste time with people who drain me
- Try to be anything that I am not for others
- Treat others poorly based on my own insecurities
- Care so much about what others think
It’s not a surprise, but we are all looking at a death sentence. That’s life. Some people get 90+ years, some get way less. But, I truly could not be sad about the life I have lived. Any days that I get after this diagnosis are bonus time. I’m about to YOLO the coming days so hard.
Cancer and Kids
What has been the worst part of the cancer diagnosis? Not the treatments or surgery, or any of that. But, it was having to tell my kids. I dreaded that more than any of the things I was about to endure. I can handle hard things. I can do tough things. I can take care of it. But, can they handle it? When I was 12, eight or five, I never had a mother who had cancer. I did not even know what their little minds will understand, and may not fully realize what they understood for years to come.
I hope that they know their mom is strong and she’s got this (or she’s going to try her best). This is my thing to carry, not theirs.
The thing that scared me the most when I was diagnosed was not knowing the prognosis right away. Would this be the end of my story? If so, it was the fact that my kids would have to live the rest of their, hopefully long, lives without their mom. I lost my dad when I was 23 and while I miss him everyday, I struggle the most with the things he is missing. I don’t wish that feeling on anyone, and especially not my young kids.
Over the last five months, my kids have been absolute rockstars. I was so worried that this year would always be known as “The Year Mom had Cancer” and would be full of stories of everything they missed out on. When I told the kids about my diagnosis, we were in the middle of softball/baseball season, a musical theater production, and swim team and hockey was starting, not to mention all the holiday and birthday traditions that were upcoming. I told them that we were going to assume I wouldn’t be at anything, so that anything I was able to make it to would be celebrated instead of “mom missed this” with tears. I told them that I would have to miss things this year so that next year I would be healthy enough to make it to everything next year.
I definitely missed things, but I also made it to so many events and games, carried on most of our holiday traditions (some looked a little different this year), but I am happy with the things I was able to attend.
I never thought that I would share so many laughs with my kids about my hair (or lack thereof). I know that through this experience, my kids have learned a whole new perspective of empathy and compassion. I hope that they also learned that you can laugh through hard things, because I sure have laughed a lot during this wild journey.
Cancer and Your Spouse
Through this journey, I have learned how important it is when picking your spouse. Wedding vows include “in sickness and in health,” and when faced with sickness, life is heavy. When the diagnosis came, my husband wasn’t as calm as I was. I think he would admit he was scared to death. He’s a medical professional and has seen the worst of the worst with this diagnosis. I can’t even imagine the dark places his mind went, but seeing how he reacted made me so grateful that he’s the guy I ended up doing life with. His response made it evidently clear how much I mean to him and how scared he was to lose me. I will say, if he talks about how much he loves my bald head for much longer, I may lose my mind.
But, the fact that he’s never once been repulsed by my bald head, or my lack of eyebrows or eyelashes, is comforting. I have enough of those feelings of looking like an alien and being taken aback every time I pass a mirror, so having him there to reassure me has been great (even if I roll my eyes at his comments). He has helped apply nausea patches, shaved my head when it got wiry and weird. He helped strip my drains and helped me shower post mastectomy. He has been by my side at appointments and chemo treatments. He seamlessly picked up where I dropped the ball during chemo, whether it be making dinner, folding laundry or putting the kids to bed. Never has he complained about the extra work he’s faced at home. He’s my person and I am incredibly lucky for that.
Cancer and Fitness
I was diagnosed at time in my life when I was the most active and fittest I had been since before having kids. I had just run my sixth half marathon in May and by September, I was fighting stage 2 cancer. At first I was thinking “I’ve spent so much time being active and pushing my body to be healthy and here I am with cancer.” But, I am so thankful I was so healthy (aside from having cancer) because had my heart and body not been healthy enough, it would have limited my treatment options. The drugs in my treatment can cause damage to my heart, they can even cause heart failure. I have had, and will continue to have, repeated ECHO scans throughout my treatment to monitor my heart and the potential damage that could take place.
I have continued to work out through treatment. I have logged over 500 miles via the Peloton bike, tread, and local greenways over the last five months. I fully believe that staying physically active helped me through the chemo treatments. Each week of treatment, it took all I had to get off the couch. I wish I could say something super human like I was active every single day, but there were days I had no energy to give. I am so proud to say that I was active almost 80% of the days over the last five months during chemo.
Cancer and Hair Loss
When the diagnosis came, one fear of mine was that I didn’t want to be seen as a sick cancer patient. I didn’t want to lose weight, lose my hair, or feel sick for weeks on end. But, after that first chemo, I realized no matter how much I tried NOT to be a cancer patient, I was. This was my cancer chapter. It was okay to look sick, because truthfully, I was. I have officially finished six rounds of chemotherapy, but this chapter isn’t yet over. I still have months of treatment and surgeries ahead and months (years) of regrowing hair.
I am ready to close out this chapter and move on without looking back, but until then, I’ll be fighting for my life while feeling like an undercover CIA agent with my wigs. I can’t say I feel super confident wearing the wigs; they just aren’t me. Unfortunately, my natural hair is a curly frizz ball and not a highly desired hair style as a wig. So, I’m wearing long hair, short hair, dark hair, blonde hair because, why not? Trying to live my best hair life during a time that I have no hair. I feel like I’m constantly repositioning and worried it is slipping, exposing way more forehead than desired. It’s such a weird and exhausting experience, but I can’t embrace the bald head because in my mind that’s when I look sick. I’m also currently in the stage of no eyebrows or eyelashes and I legitimately feel like I look like an alien. But, it is what it is. I’m alive, so I’ll endure this stage of baldness to get the extra days.
Cancer and My Body
I have stood topless in front of countless medical professionals. In the beginning of this journey I was like, “Absolutely, if this is what it takes to fix me, I don’t care.” As I stood in my final pre-op appointment at the plastic surgeon’s office, praying I wouldn’t have to take my top off again, I was given a consent form for how they could use my topless photos. My options were: they could be used for educational purposes, marketing, and/or their website. There was no “opt-out” option for the before/after photos. As the wife of a doctor, I circled only for educational purposes because I know that if everyone circled “no” there wouldn’t be real life cases to learn from. The final question was if I would like a copy of the photos. That was the easiest “no” I circled.
At this point in my journey, a week before surgery, I stood there topless with a doctor and nurse looking at me. I felt numb, empty. There was nothing inappropriate about the situation, it just wasn’t my favorite thing. It didn’t feel like “my” body anymore; it felt an art project created by a handful of doctors. I had no hair on my head, no eyebrows, and one eyelash hanging on for dear life. I wasn’t me. I had spent the last five months completely out of control of my body.
I am so grateful for my body, don’t get me wrong. I am so proud of my body for handling everything that had been thrown at it over the last several months. It just doesn’t feel like it’s mine. My body has belonged to my oncologist, my surgeon, my plastic surgeon, the radiologist, the radiology techs, and the nurses along this journey. Every one of those people have been great. It’s not due to any one situation that I feel this way. Will it ever feel like it’s mine again? I can’t tell you that right now, but I sure hope so.
Cancer and Friendship
I also learned how important it is to surround yourself with great friends. The friends that pick up the kids from school when I can’t bear to leave the house after chemo. The friends that offered to come sit with me during 4+ hours of chemo treatments. Friends that gave the most thoughtful gifts when I was struggling. The friends that put together a birthday dinner or took the reins with my most beloved annual Christmas party. Friends that ask if you want to go for a walk outside and just talk about life. Friends that still text with you even if all you talk about is diarrhea.
My friends, in addition to my husband, truly helped keep things on track some weeks. I know that I will never be able to thank them enough, but I hope they know how much I appreciate them sticking by me during this wild ride. I am looking forward to the days when we don’t have to talk about the next treatment or surgery dates, but for now, I am so thankful they are right beside me.
Cancer and Sharing My Story
My story isn’t an anomaly. There’s nothing special about me or my case of breast cancer. I’m not the first person to walk this path, but I’m here to tell my story because I won’t be the last. According to psychologist Brene Brown, “The two most powerful words when we’re in struggle: me too.”
Despite having a great support system, this cancer journey has been one of the most isolating experiences of my life. I have felt fully supported, but no one in my immediate circle has gone through this. To tell people how tired, how nauseous I was, or to even put into words how it felt to lose my hair – they didn’t understand it because they’ve never lived it. Truthfully, you find out the friends who can’t walk beside you during hard times. They avoid the conversation or the phone calls stop. The ones who will be first to celebrate, but yet missed the entire journey because it was hard or uncomfortable for them.
Finding others who have gone through similar situations was very comforting while going through treatment. I want to tell my story to let you, the reader, know that if you find yourself staring at a cancer diagnosis, I’m here. I’m here to hear your struggles, your fears. This has been the most wildly bizarre life experience, but I am still grateful to go through it. I hope that by sharing my story I can help someone else feel less alone during their cancer experience.
Cancer and Gratitude
In a situation that can make you feel like there isn’t anything to be thankful for, I sit here full of gratitude. I am so grateful for science, medicine, researchers, and people who have dedicated their lives to treating cancer. I am beyond grateful for cancer patients who have entered medical trials to help create good treatment options. I am grateful for a treatment plan. I am grateful to have a fighting chance to beat this. I am so incredibly grateful for good days.
