But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that, even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you. With all my heart, I love you.
Valerie, V For Vendetta
At the age of 31, I was diagnosed with Stage IIB TNBC (that’s triple negative breast cancer, for the acronym newbies out there, and yes there is more than one type). I think I can speak for most of us when I say that it couldn’t have come at a worser time. My world was littered with work stress, I was also dealing with work/life balance (non-existent), finding my way back to religion, and trying not to argue so much with my new roommate (/boyfriend/now-husband). You see, I wanted to be a better employee, a better friend, a better girlfriend. Just when I started to make strides toward making headway, I received the diagnosis.
And everyone always says this, but literally, everything just sort of fuzzied out for a second. It started from the background with the doctor sitting behind her desk to one of my sisters and now-husband who were sitting right next to me. Then that fuzzy cloud started closing in toward me, like a lens zooming in on me in portrait mode. Sorta like those vignette picture editing settings we all know from social media (fuzzy background, sharply focused subject). ALL of that instantly faded into the background.
I’m not *usually* a crier nor a whiner (no judgment if you are!) so in that moment, I made the conscious decision to immediately snap that fuzzy lens shut so I could open my eyes once again to a fully focused world. Snap! It was in that instance, in that second, I chose to set aside all emotions “for a later time” so I could approach this from a logical and pragmatic point of view. For now. Immediately, I asked what I needed to do moving forward.
The next few months were a blur. I actually look back fondly of that time. Free food from family (thanks steroids for the black hole aka my stomach), people came over while I watched TV all day, I figured out who my true friends were REAL quick, and I had a schedule to adhere to- awesome sauce for a “Type A” like myself! Chemo this day, blood test that day, this doctor this day, that doctor that day. It was like putting one foot in front of the other.
Then came the surgery portion. The meds started wearing off, and I emerged from this cave to discover I was 25 pounds heavier (on top of the extra 15 pounds I was already carrying around at time of diagnosis), bald, and no longer menstruating (hot flashes do NOT play!). I was also working alongside peers who never had to confront death before, so my presence felt like a constant reminder of their own mortality. AHHH!! I could never breastfeed, even if I somehow was able to get pregnant, and I had to discuss adopting and IVF with my boyfriend should we decide to get married later on and want to start a family…..and by the way, what was my purpose in life?!?! My head was spinning to barely comprehend that I had just survived cancer. Me! At 32!! Is this even real life?! And why am I not seeing my team of doctors as frequently as before..WHAT IF I GET IT AGAIN??!?
I don’t wanna talk about all that. That’s another blog for another time.
Let’s talk about boobs. MY boobs. My bilateral mastectomy took away my boobs! My life-giving force, if I was fortunate to even birth said life. I never was even a “boob person” or was particularly attached to them. But to have them taken away, knowing I could NEVER breastfeed, was truly heartbreaking. We really are mammals at the very core. What’s particularly damaging was knowing that it would be more difficult to do the one biological thing every single one of our bodies was created with the physical capacity to do. Reproduce offspring.
My significant other and I had to discuss alternative family building options in case of infertility (thanks chemo!). And that would only apply if we stayed together. In the end, we did, but what if we didn’t? IVF, adoption, surrogacy..how much would all that cost? My dream of becoming a natural mother and carrying a baby naturally quickly became pliable and molded into several variations of that. And I had to be okay with that.. like now.
After treatment, I was left with the same questions to ponder, but different deadlines. And I also had to digest and dissect the results from the life-altering decisions from before (see above). It was like I maxed out a brand new credit card and was just now starting to make payments.
I mean. We all suffered physical symptoms. We all discovered who our real friends were. We all backed off of work a bit. We all binge watched Netflix shows from the early 2000’s. AND. We all had to make life-altering decisions at the drop of a hat, which, let’s be real, were based off of numerous Google searches and “quick” glances through 389769734 page forums..all of which could only be deleted from our brains after consulting with any and every doctor and nurse you ran into up until decision deadline day. No? You didn’t? Yeah nevermind, me neither.
And it kept going too. You see, cancer is like when you get more responsibilities at work without the increased pay to match. It’s not like you can say no, I don’t wanna. Just gotta take it in and deal with it. No matter your now ruined timeline of life plans OR loss of attention/focus in perhaps progressing other areas of your life. And IF you’re lucky and get stamped with “no evidence of disease,” it just leaves you high and dry so that you’re picking up these pieces by yourself. All the while knowing that our metastatic sisters are the true warriors in this fight. Because of their tribulations, you don’t feel it’s right to complain about your second chance at life. #survivorsguilt
I digress. (Chemo brain).
Needless to say, cancer was undeniably woven into the very fiber of who I was and now, who I will be. If we could fast forward through the many vats of tears (and help from anywhere I could get it), I just knew the only way I had any chance of “getting back to normal” was if I tried something different. I still wasn’t done processing and exploring through all that unresolved trauma, nor was I exactly ready to give up that familiar wall of pain I had subconsciously built in an effort to “fortify” myself in anticipation of future attacks. But I also knew I was tired of cowering behind it.
Healing isn’t a linear process. One step back, two steps forward. Two steps back, one step forward. So why do we have to be completely “cured” before we can be productive and contribute to society, help others through their fights and battles, or more importantly, bring goodness from not-so-good??
I started off slow and posted a few pics on social media about my cancer journey. Many weren’t even aware I had been diagnosed! I peppered those social media cancer posts throughout other non-cancer posts of my life. Travel (the original intended content of my Instagram), daily random musings of life, events with family and friends. The positive response I was receiving was validation for me. That it was okay to be vulnerable sometimes. Then I took a big swing and wrote for a few cancer organizations. My submission posts were accepted, and I was even published in a printed magazine!
This doesn’t mean that I no longer have issues to work through. But by focusing on the good things I did have going on in my life, the sporadic random rays of sunshine, I was able to see the positive aspects of going through cancer (or insert any kind of adversity here). Cancer gave me another platform to speak from; it opened up another group of humanity that I could connect with and build relationships with. A community of fellow warriors to cling onto when I needed it, to swap stories and learn from, and to help carry through when they needed it. It literally gave me a new outlook on life.
One thing I kept running into was the fact that there weren’t that many young adult survivors to begin with. They’re there for sure (shoutout to my breasties!!), but small pool. Which meant there was an even smaller subset were going through similar milestones as you. Most patient/survivor support programs were made to best serve women over 50. There were a few options I took advantage of like free yoga classes. But as far as emotional and mental support for YA’s, there was just but a handful of places catered specifically to young adults. Young adult women. And as I searched for things to buy to make me feel better or prettier or “normal” or healthier, I was met with even more roadblocks. Hence, the birth of my cancer care box business.
I couldn’t just shove the fact that I had BEATEN CANCER (hallelujah sweet baby Jesus!!) under the metaphorical rug. I wanted to give back to the community. And I wanted to provide something that meant so much to me like the curated box I received from a good friend when I was going through chemo. Except for mine would have that Nancy designed and styled spin, and instead of primarily focusing on comfort and being a hardcore warrior like many of the other options out there in the market, mine would focus on making young women feel pretty. That cancer didn’t define them. The other comfort & warrior stuff is implied. I mean, how could you not feel comforted or supported enough to take on the world when a loved one hands you a curated box of goodies?!
My hope is that my boxes (and future offerings, stay tuned!) bridge the gap between patients and the cancer muggles. Success would be knowing I breathed life into creating a safe space where people don’t feel guilty about not knowing how to help but also want to show that they’re there no matter what. A space that also moonlighted as an option for patients themselves to practice self love and self care by gifting a bit of love to themselves. We didn’t need our support system to feel sorry for us or to avoid us like we’re contagious; we just needed them to be ready to meet us in the trenches, wherever that manifested in our lives. To meet us where we were/are. It’s 100% okay for everyone to just forget about the cancer for a little bit or just not focus on it so much. There’s no shame in dark sarcastic humor or pop culture references or even a little luxe “treat yo’ self” action.
Ultimately, at the very core, we’re still the same individuals/friends/lovers/sisters/mothers/etc. from before diagnosis! We still want to connect with you and know you’re there for us, even if you don’t know how. Like my friend Liz was so brave to reveal to me. I told her the same stuff I’m typing out right now. We are still the same people from before. No need to filter the conversations. We still want to hear about lame bosses and failed dates and your take on the new hot brunch spot. As I’m sure our metastatic sisters feel about our survivors’ guilt.
In summation, life isn’t a perfectly curated grid of little square photos. Life is in and out of the darkness. But good news is that means it’s also in and out of the light! Just because most of us have been programmed to keep the “bad” out of the spotlight, doesn’t mean that’s the best way to heal trauma. Concurrently, just talking about all the bad stuff or venting about it to whoever will listen won’t effectively heal PTSD all on its own.
So what does that mean?!
Life is BOTH trauma and healing. It’s BOTH giving help and receiving it. Which can’t be done with just one person. I tried, ha! This can only happen in community. So if I am able to just turn around one person’s mood and make them feel validated and loved and understood, my putting my cancer story out there will have been worth it. My jump into starting this cancer comfort box business would have been worth it. I’d like to think that even without cancer, I’d be able to spread joy to others and foster a loving community. And I probably could have. But, moot point. Cancer already came and saw and almost conquered haha! Plus, this was a classic example of being uncontrollably thrust into a position facing adversity. I was not able to control any of that. What I CAN control is how I let my experiences color my life. If these boxes by A Bunteful Life are any indication of a great start, my heart only jumps for joy with the prospect of all the future ripple effects.
