AYA Cancer

The Eye of the Hurricane

I ascended the steps of the opera house stiffly, watching as we climbed higher and higher, far away from the stage. We passed rows and rows of red seats, and I took in the towering marble columns, so imposing and grand.

Magnets

Have you ever seen magnetic tiles? They’re a kids’ toy, usually made up of brightly colored pieces and stuck together at different angles. I’ve seen kids make grand houses or castles out of them with elaborate triangle roofs and arch doors.

Negative Results

It hasn’t killed me yet—
but it spreads.
From marrow to memory,
it seeds the femur,
threads the ribs,
scrapes its code into the curve
of my pelvis—
then metastasizes
to the contact list.

Survivor’s Rage

Think, “oh how the tables have turned”. You had a particular way in which you read that statement, right? Now, use that same tone and say, “Oh how the struggles have changed”.

Cancer Survivorship

Surviving cancer is difficult. As soon as I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in March 2022, my oncologist told me to take the mental health aspect of cancer treatment as seriously as the physical treatment of cancer.

Finding Light in the After

Some days, it all feels like too much, and I just want to scream.

Survivorship is a funny thing — a club I never asked to join.

Cancer Connections

I have been diagnosed with cancer twice in the space of 8 years. Both times I have felt a real need to find others who have been through the same type of cancer to me.

Connection After Cancer

My relationships with other people have definitely changed over time. I isolated myself during my chemo and radiation treatments over the years. Whilst this may not have been the choice of mine, I felt completely lost.

Ask Me About My Sleeve

“Why do you have a sleeve on one arm?”

It’s a fair question, I suppose. Not many people wear one sleeve at a time. And yet, one look and I can feel the distance between us.

Too Much, Too Soon

I used to think the hardest part of dating after cancer would be finding someone willing to. I didn’t think anyone would want me anymore—I was changed, insecure, and utterly, profoundly afraid. I was twenty-five and already my body had failed me; already I’d had my head sheared, my body drilled into and scarred.