A friend of mine was recently diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Thankfully, her doctors think that it’s stage one and she may not need chemo. She told me that she felt guilty sharing this news with other people who have had worse diagnoses and have had to go through treatment. As someone who is still going through treatment, it didn’t even occur to me to feel anything but happy for her. At the same time, I know exactly how she feels. Throughout the past year, there have been several times when I’ve felt like my cancer isn’t bad enough to merit all of the attention. It’s a classic case of imposter syndrome, and based on my friend’s reaction to her own diagnosis, I’m not alone.
Getting to my full diagnosis was a roller coaster. I was initially diagnosed on July 1, Hell Year (i.e., 2020). A few days later, a nurse called to let me know that my breast MRI picked up a spot on my liver. I spent the next three weeks not knowing if my cancer was early-stage or Stage 4 Metastatic, which, if you know anything about cancer stages, is KIND OF A BIG DIFFERENCE.
Finally, on July 24th, I received the news that my abdominal MRI showed a small hemangioma on my liver (a non-cancerous collection of blood vessels). I had my lumpectomy in August, after which the pathology confirmed my diagnosis of Stage 1A, Grade 3 Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC). In plain English, I was diagnosed with early-stage cancer, but the cancer cells were very abnormal and the type of cancer is aggressive. I was upset about the TNBC diagnosis, but at the same time, I thought, I’m only Stage 1A. I only needed a lumpectomy, not a mastectomy. I shouldn’t be telling people about this like it’s a big deal. Imposter syndrome had begun to rear its ugly head.
Prior to my final diagnosis, my oncologist wasn’t sure if I would need chemotherapy. My tumor was small (~10 mm) and surgery showed that the cancer hadn’t spread to my lymph nodes. When he told me that I might not need chemo, everyone around me was excited. Part of me felt cautiously optimistic, but part of me felt scared about not needing chemo. What if my oncologist made the wrong choice? What if a new tumor grew? After learning that I had TNBC, he recommended chemotherapy and radiation. I almost felt relieved about needing chemo- not only because it would blast any rogue cancer cells, but also because I felt like it somehow validated my diagnosis.
In hindsight- and after hearing of my friend’s diagnosis- I recognize how ridiculous this is. Whether you’ve been diagnosed with Stage 1 or Stage 4 cancer, it’s still fucking cancer. You’ve still had to face your mortality in a way that many around you have not. You’ve still had to consider how your diagnosis will impact your family and friends, both now and long-term. No matter how far removed you are from your diagnosis, no matter how many years pass, it will always be there.
You are no imposter.
katie miller dunn 