Angie (May)

When I was first diagnosed, I said to myself, to my family, and my doctors, "Ok. Here it is. How do we fix this? Pluck it out, please." I wasn't too afraid yet, that snuck up on me bit by bit. I was mentally prepared for when I got cancer because it's been so prevalent in my family. I had also prepared myself because I had just gone through a biopsy in my uterus, and that was a bit frightening with the problems it was causing and would continue to cause throughout my cancer treatments.

Some of the toughest days were when I lost my hair and when I realized I couldn’t just pretend to feel better and go to work where I belonged. I'm not attached to my hair, and I took control by shaving it off, but I saw my mom in the mirror. She died from breast cancer. Not going to work was the first time I truly could not do something, and I hated it.

So, I turned to Facebook. I began sharing all that I was learning. It made me feel more productive, helpful to others, and even powerful over cancer.

Then, I needed another biopsy, this time on my thyroid. It was on the anniversary of my oldest brother’s passing from cancer. The nurses and doctor were so kind and offered me grace as a few tears escaped during that procedure.

When my next brother passed from cancer during the same summer I was in treatment, my hope dimmed. There were moments I questioned if this was all worth it. The nurses held my hand and cried with me. They offered a quiet comfort when I needed it most.

Support came in many forms. Our fur babies brought me peace and comfort. The cats were even great nurses, massaging my legs after surgeries and alerting me to low blood sugars. Friends advised me to binge-watch some good shows while I rested. I appreciated when they sent me random jokes or shared their joyful moments so I could celebrate with them.

The kindness from hospital staff surprised me, security, greeters, receptionists, doctors, and nurses, even those who weren’t mine. They were so friendly and encouraging, with smiles and normal conversations that reminded me the world hadn’t stopped. My father was brought to tears the day they all lined up to cheer as I rang the bell. They cried happy tears with me.

The generosity of those who donated to the GoFundMe my daughter set up was astonishing. I’m also grateful my employer at the time kept me on staff longer than necessary, so I didn’t have to worry about insurance.

My own strength came from daily choices - my attitude and actions. I am proud of my daughter for showing up every day with strength and resilience. That was incredible and difficult for her at times. I admire her more than she knows. I also gained strength and peace of mind from my dad, who stayed calm even when there was a lot to process. He held himself together and rolled with the punches, though it drained him and aged him more quickly than I care to admit.

Kindness and empathy were shared with us by my niece and her fiancé who rescued us when the car broke down, by my sisters who brought meals, by my daughter’s fiancé who took care of things at home so that she could take care of me, and by fellow cancer fighters who gifted me practical things I would need or enjoy.

Looking back, I was surprised myself with how upbeat I stayed and how often I was in a good mood. I was able to turn low points into learning opportunities and teaching moments. And I really surprised myself with how much fun I had with wigs. What hit me hardest weren’t the things I expected, like losing my hair. I never thought I’d see my mom’s eyes so clearly in the mirror once my hair was gone.

I created mantras that helped ground me:
“Mom went through this and still found laughter. So can I. I am my mother’s daughter.”
“I’m going to win this battle for all of my loved ones who lost the cancer war.”
“Resting is actually me working at healing. It’s not being lazy.”

My habits, or maybe my lifestyle, shifted. I had to focus on my own health and joy before others. I put myself out there by sharing my journey. I made time again for the friends who wanted to spend time with me.

Now, my life feels like chaos. I’m trying to juggle new priorities. I don’t know my body like I used to. My memory is worse than ever. Some days I feel like my pre-cancer self again - emotionally, mentally, and physically. Other days, I feel like I’m still in the middle of treatment. Most often, I’m confused about what is happening in my post-cancer body with ongoing medications, post-menopause, aging... I don’t always know I’ve overdone something until it’s too late. On good days, I want to do all of the things. Though balancing it all is hard, I am more intent than ever to find, create, and share joy.

My perspective on life has absolutely changed. I look at life with more childlike wonder and curiosity. What have I missed? What do I still want to do? I search for joyful moments. I tire more easily, and I need more rest to recover physically and mentally, but I’m usually in a better, less stressful mood. That’s in part thanks to my current compassionate coworkers and positive work environment, for which I’m extremely grateful.

Being a survivor means that I live with the fear that cancer can return. I worry I won’t win the next battle, and I’ll miss the future waiting for my daughter. But it also means I choose to live with joy and hope in my heart despite that fear. I have a chance to do more and be more for as long as I can.

One thing I wish more people knew is this: everything. If you think you know, you don’t. Everybody reacts differently to treatments. We each live in unique environments, with different responsibilities, stressors, diets, genes, and health conditions. We also have our own preferences and feelings about every part of the process. So much impacts our journey and outcome.

If you’ve just been diagnosed, know this: there are multiple treatment options and studies to join. Ask questions. Speak your mind. Be honest about how you’re feeling, physically and emotionally, even if that changes by the minute. Advocate for yourself. Bring someone you trust, someone who will advocate for you, too. They’ll help listen when your head is spinning. They can share observations about your condition that might help your doctors because, let’s be honest, we often put on a brave face and hold back.

Take the pamphlets. Read them at home or while you wait. Jot down notes and ask more questions. I wish I had known about Chemo Brain and losing my eyelashes. Meet the Social Worker. Meet the Dietitian. Say yes to the people your Nurse Navigator recommends. Joining a group like B the Light can help you navigate what’s happening. We’ll be honest and give you advice to consider. We’ll help you laugh through the tears.

Lastly, do not let the bad moments define your personal journey. They passed for me, and there was more help available than I ever thought possible. People told me to stay positive, but what that looked like was for me to decide. I chose to name my cancer Penelope. Those close to me asked how Penelope was treating me that day. We didn’t avoid talking about cancer, we just made it more bearable. And of course, I wore my fun wigs and smiled more.