The open letter I wrote on my prior blog post revealed my breast cancer diagnosis to my family and friends. It may not have been the most conventional way to share that information but nothing about getting cancer and processing the shock of the diagnosis is conventional.
Years ago when my mother told me she had colon cancer, she said, "initially I hadn't planned on telling anyone, I was going to deal with it alone." I immediately became angry and snapped, "I think that's selfish, why would you want to go through something like this alone?" I continued, "You have family and friends that want to be there with you to support you." As her daughter, I felt insulted that she would even consider not disclosing that information to us and although those feelings are justifiable I neglected to consider the shockwave of emotions that engulfed her when the doctor delivered the news that she had cancer.
About a month ago, that conversation came to my recollection as I was trying to process my own diagnosis. My natural inclination was to not tell anyone other than my husband for a myriad of reasons. My psyche was thrown into a tailspin.
I was afraid and upset I was being thrust into a world I knew nothing about. I despised the fact I had to give my time and attention to something so intrusive. I was pissed off. If I told people, I didn't want them to treat me like I was about to die. The thought of that infuriated me. Nor did I want anyone's pity because I didn't pity myself. The thought of trying to explain what I didn't understand was frustrating. I didn't know what to ask the doctors but in the quiet of my mind, the questions rolled in and crashed against my psyche like high tide. "What's about to happen to my life?", I wondered. "Will I lose my hair?" I asked myself, "How will this change my body?, What will my breast look like? Will I be unsymmetrical, the anguish was real. How much is cancer going to cost me?", "Can I afford to have cancer?", "How long will I have to fight this battle?" I'm at the beginning of this journey. Will this always be something that sits in the back of my mind even after I’m in remission? "Do I tell my son? If I do, how do I tell him?", I grappled with that the most, and would he understand? These are just some of the questions and I'm barely scratching the surface. It's not easy to take in the reality of a cancer diagnosis. I wanted to run from the situation but I knew I couldn't, I had to fight.
I thought back to my mom sharing her news with us all those years ago and now I'm in the space to relate. It's very humbling. She had the right to speak her truth whether I agreed with how she processed it or not. The fact was, she was the one with cancer and her body would have to endure the pain of surgery, the process of healing, and all the unknown variables that come with it. Now that I've been on both sides of this situation I'm less likely to judge a person that decides not to tell anyone because I understand the rationale that leads you to think that makes sense. I hope that anyone enduring a life-changing diagnosis like cancer will reconsider the silence. There's a level of empowerment we give our families, communities, and ourselves when we share our experiences not to be weaponized but to educate unapologetically. I'm hoping we will continue to normalize conversations around our health as we learn to get comfortable with our truth.
My decision to allow my village to love and support me through this journey has allowed me to focus on healing. It's been such a gift. God is loving me through people. It has taken some of the burdens off of my husband, son, and me. You just never know where the support will come from. Once I shared my diagnosis the responses were overwhelmingly positive. My husband and I felt an instant sense of relief from the weight we didn't realize we were carrying because no one knew except the 2 of us. The demonstration of love has come from places I didn't expect and it's blown my mind. Prayers, well wishes, testimonials of encouragement from survivors, coworkers, their spouses, and strangers blessed me. My family, friends, and sister circle have gone above and beyond to ensure we feel loved and supported.
It's been 2 weeks since I had my lumpectomy. Everything went well and I'm in the process of healing. I'll soon find out if the next phase of treatment will involve chemo or radiation, prayerfully neither. I'm nervous but still trusting God. I've managed to keep a positive attitude by embracing a spirit of gratitude.

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