Three years ago, my life took an unexpected turn when I underwent surgeries to remove two cancerous tumors, both of my breasts, and 13 lymph nodes. I cherish each day I have, but the impact of cancer remains a significant part of my life. While I may not dwell on it constantly, the reality of cancer is a presence that I will carry with me always. Here are some insights from a cancer survivor that I hope you’ll consider:
During my treatment, I didn’t fully comprehend the difficulty of what was happening. After five surgeries in less than a year, it’s only now that I am starting to understand the mental and physical trauma I endured.
For instance, my left armpit often feels as though someone is poking me with a coat hanger. Daily routines, like showering, serve as reminders of my double mastectomy, especially since I can’t feel the water on my chest. I struggle with simple tasks such as opening jars or doing pushups due to the lack of tissue and muscle in my chest.
Just because I appear to be laughing and engaging in life doesn’t mean I’m not filled with anxiety about the possibility of cancer returning and missing key moments in my children’s lives, like their high school graduations. I prefer to hear uplifting stories of survival rather than grim tales of recurrence. For example, please avoid sharing stories about friends or family members who faced a similar diagnosis and didn’t make it. It’s not that I don’t empathize; it’s just that those stories tap into my deepest fears.
If a mutual friend receives a diagnosis and we’re discussing it, I appreciate open conversation rather than awkward silence when I’m present. I don’t want to be treated like an outsider or someone to avoid; I’m part of the conversation and can handle it.
There are days when I feel such anxiety before oncology appointments that I find myself getting sick in the waiting room. However, when asked about my appointment, I often put on a brave face, pretending it’s no big deal. The truth is, I don’t always feel in control of my body or emotions. The medications I take can alter my mood dramatically, and I ask for your understanding if I seem different — it’s not intentional.
When people say, “You’re all good now, right?” I want to clarify that my situation is precarious. I’m fine for now, but the threat of cancer can always resurface. It’s not a matter of doing something right or wrong; it’s just the reality I face.
It breaks my heart when my son, Alex, asks if something is wrong when I mention a doctor’s appointment. He fears that cancer might return unexpectedly, just as it did before. It’s heartbreaking to reassure him that I won’t die.
I wish people would stop using phrases like “cancer free,” as that term can be misleading. I might be doing well currently, but I’m never truly “free” from the specter of cancer. I remind myself every day that I’m not dying from cancer; I’m living with it, and I choose this life over none at all.
And please, don’t forget to perform your self-examinations and keep up with annual mammograms. Early detection can save lives, and had I overlooked my mammogram due to being busy, my prognosis would have been much different.
In conclusion, understanding the complexities of living with cancer can foster compassion and support for those in similar situations. If you’re interested in home insemination options, check out this post or explore more about fertility at this resource.
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