Parts of Me

Rediscovering myself after cancer. That is a phrase I never thought I would have to use. Some days it’s still hard for me to wrap my brain around my diagnosis. Other days, it seems too real and it’s scary to think about. I could never say there is a “positive side to cancer” (because there is not), but cancer has taught me invaluable things about myself. These are things that I have been reflecting on since my brain cancer diagnosis last year, forcing me to morph into a new person.

I remember telling myself during treatments that once I made it through, I could go back to the “old Savannah.” She was the carefree 21-year-old girl who loved hanging out with her friends, attending college tailgates, dancing to music, and having fun on the weekends like most college students. Boy, was I wrong and so naïve. What I could not comprehend at the time was that the old Savannah no longer existed. I was going through life-changing transformations that I didn’t even realize at the time because I was solely focused on survival. Honestly, I think it was easier for me to focus on the old me instead of focusing on everything I was losing. One by one, things were slowly falling out of my grasp, like sand falling back down to the ground—pieces that would get lost in the wind and buried with the others, never to be found again.

I am a new person. I feel like I was reborn. Some parts of my identity remain the same. The parts of me that care for and love others deeply, the empathetic part of me that will never fade. The love for my boyfriend, family, and friends—that will never subside. There are other parts of me too—the part that enjoys education, writing, reading, and creating. But there are also new parts of me, parts that I am still recognizing, still trying to discern.

Part of me is traumatized. Part of me is tired. Exhausted. Eager to rest. Part of me is ready to fight, ready to advocate. Part of me is ready to go, to take on what the day has in store for me. Part of me is eager to travel, but part of me is happy right where I am. Part of me gets lost in my dreams. Part of me can’t escape my nightmares. Part of me understands, and part of me has no clue.

Things that once mattered to me—grades, being liked, other peoples’ opinions, my performance, materialism, etc., no longer matter to me. I have found the things that truly matter—love, connection, laughter, joy, experiences, inner-peace, and calmness. Going through a traumatic life event, like getting diagnosed with cancer, shifts everything. Everything. Originally, I was misdiagnosed with grade 4 glioblastoma and was essentially told I had less than five years to live. My dreams, my hopes, my career aspirations, my desire to be a mother, a wife, and to have a family of my own suddenly disappeared. Vanished. Within a matter of moments. Everything I had dreamt of, and everything I was working toward was a lie. It was all for nothing.

Slowly over time, these dreams came back to me. I realized that no one’s path is the same. And that I could not lose hope of my aspirations. Around that time, I was diagnosed with grade 3 RELA+ anaplastic ependymoma—my official diagnosis.

There are many things I still struggle with because of my diagnosis, surgery, and treatments. Deficits that can set me back. I have a clear understanding of loss. But there are so many things I learned that have transformed me into a more mature, well-rounded human being. I am different. I am stronger. I am wiser. But I am also angry, confused, and frustrated. Slowly but surely, I am gaining my strength back.

Something else I’ve learned is how much I enjoy the quiet. Just sitting with my thoughts in silence. I cannot stand busy or loud places, loud people, or crowds. I am more of a homebody than ever. I cherish being comfortable in my PJs in my bed. Maybe I’m just in my grandma era but if so, that’s fine—I choose to be in my grandma era for life. That seems like a silly thing to mention, but it has really transformed my life and my mindset. Getting diagnosed with cancer forced me to rest. And over time, during those periods of rest, I began to find little things that I appreciated. My level of gratefulness increased because I was less stimulated and more present.

Getting involved with Teen Cancer America and Play It Back songs is something I’ll forever be grateful for. I have written and recorded original songs based on my cancer journey. This has provided me an outlet to cope and create art, both of which have been instrumental in helping me rediscover myself after cancer. I just released my first single and have performed live a few times. Through this experience, I have gained a passion. Elephants and Tea has also played a fundamental role in helping me cope and express myself through words. Having a place to go where I can read work from people who get it, people who have been there is truly powerful and means a lot.

Advocacy work has become a passion of mine during survivorship. My mom and I started a podcast where we talk about cancer through the lens of a cancer patient and a caregiver/mother. This has provided us an outlet to talk openly and honestly about the struggles we have faced, and the ways in which we have grown throughout this journey. We attended Head to the Hill through National Brain Tumor Society in May 2023, and it was an incredible experience. We got to meet with representatives from Tennessee and urge them to increase funding for brain tumor research. I attend as many events as possible and perform at events that enrich the cancer community. Attending Global Cancer Congress through Teen Cancer America in June 2023 connected me with other AYA survivors from the U.S., Australia, and the UK.

The friends I have gained through the cancer community are some of the most supportive, genuine, and empathetic friends I could ask for. These friendships have changed my life forever. It is one thing to tell someone you’re close to that has never had cancer about your experience. It is another thing to tell someone that has had cancer about your experience, and for them to understand and to validate your experience. There is a feeling of familiarity and comfort in knowing that you share a deeply emotional, life-changing event with someone else.

Part of me wonders if this all happened for a reason. Part of me questions that reason. Part of me will stay forever wondering why. Part of me will stay still and quietly say to myself, there is no sense to be made of this. I will never know how or why I got diagnosed. I will never know what caused my cancer or why this happened to me. What remains clear to me is the light that has revealed itself through the darkness. And for that, I will be forever grateful.

This article was featured in the December 2023 Rediscovering Yourself After Cancer issue of Elephants and Tea Magazine! Click here to read our magazine issues.