Today is my birthday.
And the start of my cancer season. Cancer season is a season one celebrates alone, generally in quiet reflection, silently checking off each cancerversary – diagnosis date, surgery date, start of treatment, end of treatment, etc. Most non-cancer people have no idea that many survivors do this. But each and every day, minute, and second is counted and tallied – for the first few years at least. And lest you think cancer survivors are morbid, we also celebrate the cancerversary when we actually FORGOT it was our cancerversary. And on this day, my birthday, I also shed a few tears for my friends who are no longer with us.
Birthdays are really, really important.
My cancer story is my own. I had what some of us call Cancer Lite. Or, a non-invasive cancer called DCIS. And though I was “lucky” to find my cancer early, I somehow found myself in the midst of an amazing sisterhood of young women with breast cancer. Because of them, I had someone to talk to in the middle of the night, and people to coach me through the difficult times. I knew what to expect throughout treatment, and I received great advice on how to work full-time and somehow get to daily radiation treatments, how to dress, how to get through the day, what to do when the pain and fatigue got to be too much, and what to do when my skin started falling apart. There is no cancer user-manual; there is only the advice from those that came before us.
Many cancer survivors have their stats committed to memory: 1 cm, multifocal, grade 2, w/ comedo necrosis, ER + 50%, PR -. Currently NED. And though I’m not that great in science, I’ve studied all my treatment options, drugs, and side effects. I never took statistics in college, but I’ve become a semi-expert in what my absolute risk vs. relative risk is.
So you see, I’m stage 0. Not that we identify ourselves with our cancer stages (all the time), but it is often on our minds. My concerns are completely different from someone who is stage 4. And though there is a world of difference between 0 and 4, camaraderie, love, and support know no boundaries of stage.
So you see, I’m stage 0. Not that we identify ourselves with our cancer stages (all the time), but it is often on our minds. My concerns are completely different from someone who is stage 4. And though there is a world of difference between 0 and 4, camaraderie, love, and support know no boundaries of stage.
This is my “other” life - the cancer patient life. It’s pretty darn lonely except for a wonderful online community. So thank you, “sisters,” for all you have done for me. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for some reflection, some tears, and some laughs.
Sometime in the future, I'll talk about how I despise the term "survivor."
Sometime in the future, I'll talk about how I despise the term "survivor."
If you have some extra change, please consider donating to:
The Pink Daisy Project, a fabulous grass roots charity that directly helps women diagnosed with breast cancer. They helped me tremendously. http://pinkdaisyproject.com/
Libby’s Legacy is a central Florida charity that paid for my mammogram, ultrasounds, and three biopsies while I was unemployed. http://www.libbyslegacy.org/donate.php
And the YSC – Young Survival Coalition – who created the space where I met all these amazing women. http://my.youngsurvival.org/
