First off, let me begin by acknowledging how obnoxious the words “My Cancer Journey” are. “My Cancer Adventures” felt a little too exciting (although it has been an adventure, if you are the type who enjoys life-threatening situations. I am not that type). Likewise, “My Cancer Shit” felt a bit inappropriate, if not a more accurate reflection of how I actually speak. So here we are: why I chose to share my cancer journey publicly.
One might imagine that learning you have cancer sucks. It does, but not in the way you might think. To the person with cancer, it feels unreal. When the doctor called to tell me that my biopsy came back positive for breast cancer, I felt emotionally disconnected from the news and instead, just wanted a game plan.
The part that sucks about getting a cancer diagnosis is having to tell other people about it. I walked into my husband’s home office to tell him, and he immediately started crying. Then I FaceTimed my mom, who read my face and before I could get a word out, shouted for my father to come to the phone. My siblings held it together on the phone, although after my sister hung up, she sobbed and tore into some cookie dough. My best friend quietly asked questions, then offered to share the news with the rest of our small group of friends from high school. I downplayed the diagnosis for my grandmother, and my aunt, who had been diagnosed with multiple myeloma the previous year, was heartbreakingly convinced that helping her is what gave me cancer. Seeing my diagnosis reflected back at me through the tear-stained faces of my closest family and friends was gut-wrenching. I wanted to comfort them, to tell them that everything would be okay, even if that felt like a lie.
After I ripped off the initial band-aid, I paused. Do I want to tell anyone else? I wondered. Should I tell my bosses? What about other friends and family? I come from a tough bunch, with a high threshold for pain (thankfully, because most of us are also accident-prone) and a propensity to keep our physical complaints to ourselves. At the same time, I knew that news of my diagnosis wouldn’t stay quiet for long, and I wanted to be in charge of the narrative.
To make the announcement, I chose a tasteful meme to share on my Instagram page (just kidding. I chose the meme with Taylor from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills angrily yelling on one side and the haughty white cat on the other side). Immediately, I was flooded with supportive messages. Since that day last July, I have received countless meals, gifts, and a massive stack of cards. I still get text messages and DMs all the time from people I haven’t talked to in years, just checking in to see how I’m doing. I have had so many people praying for me that sometimes I picture God saying, “Guys. GUYS. I HEARD YOU.” Through each update I’ve provided, I’ve been surrounded by love. As someone who might have kept the ups and downs of this journey (adventure…shit…) to herself, sharing it has kept me emotionally intact most days.
The other reason I chose to share my diagnosis publicly is because it was so unlikely. I was only 36 years old, in good shape, and with no family history of breast cancer. The only reason I found the lump was because I felt a weird tingling sensation and upon finding a marble in my boob, thought, hmm…you shouldn’t be there. When I went in for the diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound, the tumor didn’t even show up on the mammogram (side note to my densely-breasted sisters: ALWAYS ask your doc to request the mammo AND ultrasound) and the radiologist assured me that it likely wasn’t cancerous. He told me that I could take my time and request a second opinion before getting a biopsy. Thankfully I didn’t take my time, because after the pathology came back, the doctors determined that I had an aggressive form of an already aggressive cancer.
I wanted to share my story in real time, and I will continue to do so, because I’m not dead. The reason I’m not dead is because I listened to my gut and I was proactive about it. Even in those moments when sharing makes me feel over-exposed (and those moments happen to my introverted soul often), if it means that someone reads it and makes an overdue doctor’s appointment, then sharing will have been worth it.
katie miller dunn 