I remember the day I got told I had breast cancer. Everything I knew, or thought I knew, until then dissipated into a pool of nothingness. I asked myself many questions during the dark time that followed, questions that mostly started with ‘why’. They remain unanswered to this day.
At some point, I decided I didn’t want to live in a constant state of worry and anxiety. I made up my mind that I wasn’t doing to be defined by my illness. I was going to live like before — with fierceness and determination.
But I was naive.
Trying to be understanding, people would say things they hoped were comforting like how I was ‘given’ cancer because God knew I could handle it — or that I got it because I’m a strong person. None of which were true — or comforting.
Things got worse after chemotherapy, and the treatment started taking its toll on my appearance. I started losing hair. People I knew started to become uncomfortable. They didn’t know what to say or would avoid situations where they would have to make conversation with me. I knew it wasn't intentional. They just didn’t know what to do or say. I started to feel alone.
But then I found random acts of kindness in unexpected places. When I was out and about, complete strangers would seek me out, seeing my tell-tale cancer cap. They would share stories of their cancer journey and treatment. They would give me words of support. Occasionally, I would meet a cancer survivor. Those brief moments were encouraging to me. I felt a connection and felt that I was finally being seen and heard.
I recovered from cancer eventually. In some ways, it’s been a gift. I’m more accepting and kinder toward others. Most of all, I know there’s something I can say to another person with cancer that will genuinely comfort them. Maybe I’ll find them in a shopping aisle or while I’m picking out a new T-shirt.
They might need support from unexpected places too.
