Cancer stripped away my armor, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable like the day I was born. The security I once took for granted vanished with my diagnoses not once, twice, but three times of acute lymphoblastic leukemia. My expectation of living a long and healthy life was shattered.
I’ve accepted that my life may be shorter than I once hoped, but the loss of my sense of safety hit me hardest. Now, every day is spent trying to prevent the very thing that tried to end my life, beginning at just 31 years old. I no longer live under the illusion of guaranteed health.
Living with cancer is like being hit by the proverbial bus. We all know it could happen, but it’s still a shock when it does. Before crossing the street, I still look both ways, but I know I can’t bubble-wrap myself against that bus hitting me again. That sense of safety is gone forever.
Before cancer, I dreamed of a future filled with career milestones, children, and precious time enjoying my retirement years. Now, those dreams feel like mirages, always just out of reach. The certainty of my future has been replaced by constant uncertainty.
I’ve had to teach myself tools to deal with anxiety I never had before cancer. Even though I know that 99% of the time, each new ache or pain is not cancer, I sometimes wonder about that 1%. Every check-up reminds me of what I’ve been through and can sometimes be a rollercoaster of emotions, shifting between feeling hopeful and scared. Adding in the financial stress from never-ending insurance bills only adds to the burden.
Even my relationships have changed. Friends and family mean well, but their pity or overly positive reassurances can feel like salt in the wound. It’s hard for them to understand what I’m going through. Emotions make people uncomfortable. It’s hard to explain what it feels like and why I see things so differently now to someone who hasn’t had cancer.
Cancer took my sense of safety, carefree outlook on life, and ability to plan for the distant future. These losses feel like a constant weight, a reminder of what once was and might never be again. I know I’ll never feel that peace of mind again.
I miss the simplicity of pre-cancer worries. Concerns about work deadlines or social plans now seem trivial compared to the lingering concerns in the back of my mind of a life-threatening illness.
Isolation is another heavy burden. Although my loved ones try to understand, it’s hard for them to understand what it feels like to live with cancer’s constant threat of recurrence. This isolation feels like a divide between those who have faced cancer and those who haven’t.
Imagine leaving your house every day, knowing the bus that hit you once could strike again. That’s my life now. I never feel fully safe, always wondering when my body will betray me again. It’s a strange mix of acceptance and being on high alert, trying to live my best life while preparing for the worst.
Cancer doesn’t define me anymore, but it is still a journey. I’ve learned to appreciate each moment despite what I’ve lost.
Helping other women who have been through cancer regain their lives and find their new normal has given me purpose and the connections I’ve made remind me that I’m not alone.
Finding a community has been crucial. It’s a safe space to express my fears, anger, and grief without needing to sugarcoat or minimize my feelings.
While cancer has changed my life forever, it has also given me a deeper appreciation for the present. I cherish small victories and find beauty in everyday moments. Cancer may have taken much from me, but it hasn’t taken my ability to hope, love, and live with intention. And that is a victory worth celebrating.
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