I guess it’s time to talk about breast cancer. Specifically, it’s time to talk about mine.
Seven years ago, I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. It was Stage 4 right out of the gate. Everyone loves to tell you that there are warning signs. I didn’t have warning signs until about six weeks before it.
The warning? A pain in my back.
The mammogram? Did not show a nodule.
The blood tumor markers? The typical markers did not show elevated numbers.
I was fine. Until I wasn’t.
Why didn’t I talk about it before now?
Well, I had a lot going on. Also, I didn’t want this to define me. I didn’t want to risk never getting hired for a job again. I didn’t want cancer to be the only thing that people saw in me. I didn’t want people to feel like that’s all they could talk about when they saw me.
I am not that cancer.
Why am I talking about it now?
I just passed my diagnosis anniversary. Seven years. And while I’m incredibly grateful for getting about five years longer than we thought I might have, I’m greedy for more.
I want to do more with my life.
I have no idea if I’ll get that chance.
But I do feel like I need to start writing again. I need to start expressing how terrifying and how hilarious (yep, I said it) some of my responses have been to this fucked up disease.
Don’t worry. This isn’t going to become a cancer blog. I’m writing a pod blog over on Substack to share the feelings, the experiences, and even some of the data behind what it is like to go through this disease.
This is me: Chemo Means Never Having to Shave My Legs
Hope to see you there!