AYA Cancer

After Cancer You 2.0

It’s not always straightforward. It doesn’t “end after treatment ends.” Of course, treatment doesn’t always end. Even when it does, the wonder at whether treatment will be needed again flickers continuously on and off in my brain. On. Off. On.

As an active young mom, writer, contemplative, and AYA cancer survivor, I think a lot.

Cancer Free!?

Is it possible to ever be free of cancer? The mutated cells can be erradicated, health can return, life can move forward, but the grip cancer holds in my mind will remain. The fear that it could come back. That I must be on my guard, on the lookout for signs.

Cancer and Loneliness Are Besties

Cancer and loneliness are besties. They bond over the fact that each cancer journey is unique to the patient. They can gossip about how different we are and how cancer impacts us. The rumors are true; our treatment options, treatment plans, socioeconomic impact, family impact, etc., will all differ.

Cancer Created Me

Cancer changed everything. Some people like to pretend that it doesn’t change anything, but the raw fact is that it changes everything; life, family, friends, and most importantly yourself. Maybe they are in denial or have not come to terms with this burden. But within the dark crevices of Cancer it has a way of making you feel more deserving and as if you are a more superior being than you were before.

Bring It On, Boys

I found out I had cancer on a Thursday. Approximately 26 hours later, I was single.

Not only did he end things the day after my diagnosis, he removed me from his life via social media while I was still hospitalized after my surgery two weeks later. I had just received a “get well soon” card the day before I went under the knife and both he and his mother checked on me following surgery, so shock did not begin to describe what I felt.

Inevitable Change

Change.
Auburn leaves fall to the ground.
Magenta skies fade to black.
A lotus thrives in muddy water.
A caterpillar transitions.

Confined by the Present

It will never be the same
There are people all around me
They show their love
They show support
But it can only go skin deep

Finding and Losing Myself

In 2012 I was invited to a celebration for cancer survivors at which I spoke about finding my sense of self again after cancer. I still have a printed photograph from the event. On that glossy paper I was captured wearing a sleeveless white dress with a red sash. I looked healthy, and I was smiling. I was 22 years old.

Any Questions?

“You will be 100% infertile… Any more questions?”

The words reverberated in my skull as I took the receipt from the hospital parking deck turnstile. My anger radiating through my knuckles as I gripped the steering wheel tighter with each passing minute. My vexation only heightened by the fact that I just paid $15 for parking. All to be nonchalantly reminded that my new treatment plan would leave me unable to conceive children on my own.

Finding My Voice Again

Going through treatments was incredibly isolating. At the time, I did not really know anyone in the cancer community, so I had no one to talk to who understood what I was going through. I was the youngest patient at the hospital where I was treated. After treatments, I felt driven to start doing things I really enjoyed again that did not have to do with school or work—things that I enjoyed because it was a form of self-care, and it was just fun.