Every spring it hits me—my cancer anniversary. Eighteen years ago I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer and I remember my doctor telling me “if you’re going to get cancer, this is the one you want.” Regardless, cancer changed everything.
Then, each day dawned with the thought “I have cancer.” Now, it recedes to the back of my brain, only occasionally rising to the surface to remind me. At the time, I wanted to quit work because I needed all the fight in me. I felt like crap mentally and physically and mused that I never felt so crummy until the doctors started “curing” me.
I watched a friend die from the disease and thought it could have been me. Another friend was diagnosed just after me and I sobbed “not her, too.” Then my petite sister was diagnosed and I watched her small body go through the ravages of surgery, treatment, and reconstruction.
I took charge and was one of the few women at that time who claimed control over her own treatment. With the help of my husband, I planned medical treatment around life—not the other way around. The only thing that made me feel like myself was singing—as I was drugged up and going into surgery, my husband told the nurses was trying to sing “How Can I Keep From Singing.” That surgery was scheduled far enough before a concert so I could sing. Treatments took Sunday night rehearsals into consideration. I asked how radiation and drugs would affect my hormones and my voice (something the doctors never considered).
I am where I am today because I’m a fighter, but cancer made me a Warrior. I never wanted to be defined as Mary, Cancer Survivor, but I also didn’t want to ignore the wake up call of cancer. It’s a daily balance of wearing a pink badge versus going about the business of living.
Cancer sucks. So for all of you in the fight, grab your shield and sword and face it head on. I hope you concentrate on what is before you for only today—yesterday catalogs regrets and tomorrow is unwritten.
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