AYA Cancer

Cancer Is About to Be KO’d

Hello Cancer,

I see you tried to knock me out, but sorry, I’ve got too much to live for! My kids and my wife support me so much that you don’t stand a chance inside me. I’m a huge Rocky fan, which motivates me to fight you harder, and I tell myself each and every day to keep punching.

Dear Cancer, Why am I Still Here?

Dear Cancer,

You thought you were going to take me out, but I am still here. Twelve years ago, when the doctors finally found you, I will admit you did have me there for a second (insert nervous laugh). The doctors were perplexed—they were not sure what they were looking for, and it took a painful six months to even get diagnosed. The doctor said, “You have Multiple Myeloma at 29 years old.”

Dear Cancer, You Ruined So Much for Me

Dear Cancer,

I am so mad some days about why I don’t have an ordinary life. When I was diagnosed, I was only 33 and my babies were not even 9 months old.

You robbed me of so many fragile memories I have of my babies. You robbed me of their first birthday—I had to be at chemo instead of celebrating. Weekends in the hospital, months where I didn’t get to pick them up because of surgical restrictions.

Dear Cancer, You Are Light and Dark

Dear Cancer,

Twice you’ve come knocking at my door.
The first time I was only 36 and you snuck up on me,
slow growing, but caught early
in my endometrial lining
but the price to pay was total hysterectomy and the inability to have any more children.

Dear Cancer, You Were Never Invited

Dear Cancer,

A year ago you had the audacity to just storm into my life. You were never invited and you were definitely not expected. You just came in anyway. You have such nerve. Who does that? You have been really tough on me, but I tried to be tougher.

Dear Cancer, Go to Hell

Dear Cancer,

Youza B. F you. Go to hell.

Hope you die first,
Sophie

Dear Cancer, I’m Living Anyway

Dear Cancer, 

I knew we would meet one day. I can’t explain it, and others can’t understand, but you apparently knew too. You were the thing I was most afraid of, next to airplanes. When my surgeon told me you had arrived, I asked if my constant worry had manifested you into reality. He said he doesn’t believe in that, but if it were true, I could also manifest my way out of this. My first cancer lesson on perspective. 

Dear Cancer, You Were A Dictator

Dear Cancer, 

It feels as if you have been with me longer than six months, and that is quite literally because you have. You snuck in and allowed my body to become your ally, to get what you needed to survive. You told my physical being that it would be okay and you wouldn’t cause any problems.

Dear Cancer, You Don’t Care

Dear Cancer,

Not that anything in this world could have prepared me, but I never saw you coming. I was healthy. I wasn’t sick. I was able to do everything that I had always done. I have to give it to you, I’m rarely surprised by things, but you gave me the biggest surprise of my life. I never saw you lurking in the shadows just waiting to take charge of my life as I knew it.

Dear Cancer, You’ve Taken Enough From Me

Dear Cancer,

I write this letter to you to inform you that you may want to reconsider your approach. For me, you came on too strong, out of nowhere, and wanted to be the center point of my life. These are not qualities or characteristics that I look for, particularly in any aspect of my life that I am going to share everything with. You brought me to my knees and held me in a very dark place in the beginning and for quite a while after my diagnosis. I am writing to tell you to get lost and to stay gone. FOREVER. You may not understand why, so I have outlined some things for you.