You would think that having written numerous blog posts about my breast cancer journey, that writing about it would nine years later would be a breeze. You would think that, as it seems logical enough, yet you would be wrong.
I don’t know if it’s writer’s block or not, but even though the thoughts and words aren’t coming easily this year, I feel like I want to say something. Or that I need to say something. Or that I have to say something. But I don’t really know what to say, only that I feel compelled to say something.
Maybe, I am not quite sure what to say, because I still don’t even know how to refer to this day. Today happens to be the day that I was told, I’m so sorry. You have breast cancer. I have seen such a date referred to as a cancerversary or cancer anniversary. I haven’t fully embraced either one of these, but I have been known to use them interchangeably just to keep things simple.
I also don’t know what the appropriate verb is to use for this day. Celebrate? Remember? Commemorate? The fact that I am alive is definitely reason to celebrate, but I am not so sure I want to celebrate one of the worst days of my life. Somehow, I don’t think I will ever forget this day, so remembering it doesn’t feel like the right word choice. Commemorate doesn’t make the cut, either, because I associate it with honoring someone who is highly successful, heroic, and, usually, dead.
So, I have settled on saying that that today, I mark that the day that I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It’s not very catchy or flashy, but it sums it up rather succinctly.
As I mark another year as a breast cancer survivor, I look back over these past nine years with a sense of wonder, disbelief, grief, joy, and gratitude. It’s funny, because while I will never forget that day, there are days when I forget, for lack of a better word, that I had cancer. I have caught myself tearing up during commercials about cancer treatment and thinking, Those poor people; I can’t imagine dealing with that, before I remember that I was among those poor people, and I don’t have to imagine dealing with cancer, because I lived with it, too.
This actually could be a positive sign, at least that’s how I am taking it. To me, it means that I have been able to make breast cancer part of my story, not my whole story or the end of my story. It definitely impacted me physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, and it is another before and after divider of my life. Meaning, I sometimes use life before cancer and life after cancer as a point of reference as to when something occurred.
Part of the reason that I think it has become easier for me to disassociate from the breast cancer diagnosis is that I no longer am receiving any treatment for it. In 2021, I took my last dose of Letrozole, so, other than the physical reminders in the form of surgical scars and radiation tattoos, I no longer have medications and radiation to keep it in the forefront of my mind.
I still see my oncologist annually, but once I reach the ten-year mark, those yearly visits will no longer be necessary, at least according to my oncologist. Those visits are like a security blanket for me, though, so, I am not looking forward to cutting those ties. As a child who used to freak out at the mere mention that I had a doctor’s appointment, for fear it would involve getting a shot, I can’t believe that I am actually dreading not going to the doctor now. Oh, how times have changed!
Another explanation for this disassociation is that my life looks vastly different now than it did on that day. Back then, I was a divorced mom with two daughters (ages 14 and 12), and I had just started a new job three months prior to my diagnosis. About two years later, I downsized and moved to a new home that was perfect for the girls and me, and more changes were on the horizon, much to my surprise.
I reconnected with a friend from college, and we started dating in 2019 and fell in love. In 2022, I married the absolute love of my life, and we have a big, boisterous, beautiful family of our combined seven children, our two sons-in-law, and our sweet granddaughter. Also, in 2022, I left my job in the corporate world and launched my life coaching business, which has been a labor of love. Finally, because of our expanding family, my husband and I right-sized and bought our first home together this past summer, and we moved about a block and a half away from my old house.
If you had told me nine years ago that I would survive breast cancer and have the life that I have now, I never would have believed you, even though I would have wanted to. Back then, I initially thought my life was over, and even as I responded to treatment and was reassured by my oncologist that my prognosis was good, I still would not have believed this would be my life. Going from survival mode to thriving mode has been one of the greatest transformations of my life, and it’s still unfolding. There’s no such thing as a perfect life, but this life is far better than anything that I ever could have dreamed of or imagined by far.
Sadly, during the past nine years, I have watched some people I love be diagnosed with breast cancer and other diseases, and some did not survive. Since 2016, I lost three of my biggest cheerleaders, Michelle, Kristene, and Jennifer, and they continue to motivate and inspire me to show up and be my best, just as they did. I don’t always do that, but I try. And I will keep on trying this year and in all of the years to come.
Since I was diagnosed in 2015, while there have been advancements in breast cancer screening and treatment, the number of people being diagnosed with, and dying from, this disease continues to increase. In 2024, that’s heartbreaking and unacceptable, and I still hold out hope that one day we can celebrate, remember, and commemorate the day when a cure for breast cancer was found and made readily available and affordable for everyone. Until then, do monthly breast exams, have yearly mammograms, talk with your healthcare provider about ways to reduce your risk of breast cancer, and advocate for affordable, accessible, and equitable healthcare for all.
