I was diagnosed with Stage 1 HER2+ Breast cancer two weeks after my 33rd birthday. Me, being wildly naive to the whole experience, thought that I would just have a quick little surgery to have the tumor removed, and I’d be able to resume life as normal, no problem. It’s when my oncologist started mentioning words like “chemo” and “lupron” and “egg-freezing” that I had an “oh shit” revelation about what this diagnosis would mean for my life; the fact that it would actually have an impact for more than a week or two.
That being said, I’m going to let you in on a secret: Sometimes, being diagnosed with cancer isn’t really that bad.
I know, I know - I’m about to get flooded with all of the stories about the trauma, the heartbreak, the hard decisions, the suck of receiving a cancer diagnosis, especially if you’re in the prime of your life, like I was.
Please know, I’m not referring to those club members who have a terminal illness, or have had their tumor metastasize so that it will be with them forever, nor am I discounting the devastation of losing a loved one to cancer - those experiences are a completely different beast and I cannot begin to comprehend the mental gymnastics one must perform to keep moving forward in those situations.
What I am referring to is what I like to call the “Taj Mahal” of cancer experiences: the diagnosis’ that modern medicine has gotten so dialed in that the chances of it truly altering the trajectory of your life are slim to none.
Don’t get me wrong, I still had to go through several months of suck. Most devastating is the fact that I lost my hair (I had freaking GORGEOUS hair) and I gained 30 pounds (turns out not all cancer patients get the trendy *emaciated* experience-thanks steroids!).
Beyond my shallow body image complaints, I also had some serious medical moments. I got to be the center of a Grey’s Anatomy-esque moment when I had an allergic reaction to one of the chemotherapies and almost lost consciousness in the infusion chair - it turns out that all medical personnel in the area really DO rush to your side when you keel over. I was then hospitalized for a port infection for multiple days (for those of you who don’t know, a port is basically a small rubber disc in your chest that runs a tube into your heart so you don’t blow your veins with all the chemo) . FInally, I had to take weeks off of work to deal with the crushing fatigue and nausea that came with the standard six rounds of chemo that were prescribed for my particular stats.
And yet…
I feel so wildly lucky to have the diagnosis that I do.
Luckily, I have no fear of not seeing my future. Luckily, I don’t have to be on the years of medication that I would have had to deal with if my cancer was fed by hormones. Luckily, I was able to keep working during treatment, and receive amazing medical care through my fantastic insurance (being a teacher pays off monetarily if you have cancer, apparently #protip). And luckily, I was able to keep my OG boobs and not deal with the body dysmorphia that comes with losing a vital part of one's womanhood.
When you become part of the “worst club, best members”, you get an inside view into how terribly rotten cancer can be for some people: insurance not covering vital care, diagnosis that domino into terminal illnesses, loss of income, relationships, and self-esteem…the reach of this disease is truly wide and terrible.
Yet, for those of us lucky enough to dance on the line of morbid possibility and have the music stop, it truly can be one song in the playlist rather than the soundtrack to your entire life. I have felt guilty in the past for not feeling more depressed, but now, I embrace my story as one that can hopefully give hope to those who find themselves in similar shoes. Take a pause if needed, but know you can handle what comes with grace and hope. All you can do is move to the beat that life gives you, but if you’re lucky (like me), it will only change your moves for the briefest of moments.