The Worst Has Yet to Come

What would you say to your past self if you could prepare for a cancer diagnosis? Being told you have cancer is probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to hear. It’s a moment that feels like life has hit pause, and no amount of preparation truly softens the blow. But what if I could hand my past self a guide to the journey ahead? I wish I had been better prepared for what was to come, both during treatment and in the years after.

Looking back, I remember the shock of hearing the word “cancer” and feeling completely unprepared for what followed. You expect fear and uncertainty, but you don’t realize how the news touches every part of your life. I wish someone had told me it’s alright to feel lost and overwhelmed in the whirlwind of appointments, tests, and decisions. It’s okay to cry and admit that you’re scared. And it’s OK to reach out for help because you shouldn’t have to face everything alone.

When I started treatment, I thought I knew what to expect: hair loss, nausea, fatigue. But the reality of chemotherapy was harsher. The treatments were grueling, and I experienced complications like a stroke as well as unbearable pain – things that were never mentioned before I started. Even more shocking was the sudden onset of menopause at 35, a consequence of the treatment that wasn’t disclosed beforehand. Discovering later that I was infertile felt like another blow, one I wasn’t prepared for. Losing the ability to have biological children, even when I wasn’t sure I wanted them, was a profound loss for me. It felt like a deeply personal choice had been stolen from me without my consent. If I could have one do-over, it would be to ask about fertility preservation options, even if I wasn’t thinking about kids at the time. Just having that conversation might have made a difference in how I coped with the outcome.

But what surprised me most wasn’t just the physical toll but the mental one as well. I assumed that once I was in remission, life would slowly return to normal. What I didn’t expect was the crippling anxiety of survivorship – that constant worry that cancer could come back. It was like living with a shadow that was always there. I wish someone had told me that fear is part of the process and that it’s okay to be scared even when treatment ends. It’s that awkward mix of being thankful to have made it through but feeling bad for still worrying about what might happen next.

Moving forward after treatment isn’t about getting back to who you were; it’s about figuring out who you are now. This new version of “normal” isn’t the same as before, and it takes time to accept that. The lingering side effects, the regular checkups, and the shifts in how you see the world all become part of your new everyday reality. One of the hardest parts is feeling misunderstood by those who haven’t lived it. It’s a different kind of loneliness that comes from being changed in ways that aren’t visible to others. I’ve learned to be gentler with myself, to accept that healing has its ups and downs and that it’s okay to have tough days, even when the most difficult part is meant to be behind me.

If this guide were real, it would be simple yet impactful, filled with practical advice and heartfelt quotes from survivors. Most importantly, it would emphasize that while the journey is unbelievably difficult, it’s also survivable, and you don’t have to go through it alone.

So, if you’re reading this as someone newly diagnosed or supporting someone who is, I hope my words help in some small way. Cancer is a battle, and while I can’t offer you a roadmap to make it easier, I can tell you that the strength you need is within you, even when it feels out of reach. Don’t be afraid to share your story, ask for support, and, above all, be gentle with yourself.

Always remember, the journey is tough, but you’re tougher.

Reach out to others who understand because connection can be one of the most powerful healers.