Cancer and Life’s Trajectory

As the end of October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, draws near, I consider the numerous ways I have written about this topic and cancer in general over the years. They have ranged from my own experiences as a cancer patient, to calling out pink ribbon campaigns, to grieving the death of my sister Mary Jo and the many other losses cancer brings. 

I have written many words I am proud of, like “I am not less of a woman, just a woman less her breasts.” And these two poems:

I wrote the first draft of this poem bald and sick from chemo, on a receipt as I was filling my car up with gas one late October day in 2008.

Keeping Perspective

What’s more heartbreaking than having cancer?

Not knowing you have it and it keeps growing.

What’s more devastating than losing your hair?

Losing your life and second chances.

What’s more depressing than being afraid to die?

Having nothing to live for and forgetting joy.

I wrote this revised version five grateful and fully lived years later.

Many miles were covered, by my feet and my heart, mind, and soul.

Keeping Perspective Revisited

What’s more unwelcome than being less your breasts?

Not appreciating the body that remains.

What’s more miserable than fearing cancer’s return?

Taking days and daily gifts for granted.

What’s worse than being a cancer patient?

Not letting life’s experiences define and refine.

I don’t take my health for granted. I try not to take a day for granted. Some days are better than others. The intensity of some of the emotions I have known because of my own and others’ breast cancer experiences sometimes wanes. And yet, it is inexorably woven throughout my life story now.

Each woman and man who has had breast cancer has their own unique story to tell. Let them tell it. I do not speak for anyone but myself. I could give you a fairly lengthy list of blog posts and guest blog posts that I’ve written about the topic. Find some here and here. That writing may have reached others. I know it reached me. And helped me process a myriad of mixed emotions and fears.

How do I feel three years after my sister Mary Jo died of metastatic breast cancer? How do I feel as my niece Sarah just wrapped up her last round of radiation and her active treatment for the BC diagnosis she received earlier this year? How do I feel 14 years out from my own bilateral mastectomy? I still feel that mix of emotions and fears. It is a sharp edge some days and a dull one on others. Like today’s post, I feel a little disjointed right now.

Cancer has altered the trajectory of my life. It has led to heartache, grief, loads of fear, and also to insight and acceptance, and so much more. It continues to define and teach. Does that make it a gift? No. It makes it an important part of my life’s story. I will keep writing about it, disjointed or not. Cancer teaches me about living gratefully. Does that make me grateful for cancer? An emphatic no to that! And yet, I cannot deny that because of cancer I live more deeply and with more intention. I close this post still disjointed, still grieving, and still grateful.

Our niece Sarah with her seven aunts in June 2022, as she was undergoing chemotherapy treatments.

Mary Jo, Zita, and I in late March 2019. We are the three BC sisters. Mary Jo died less than three months later.