Because I’ve worked in the cancer advocacy space for so long, I feel like I’ve been very matter of fact about my diagnosis.
Need me to do a biopsy?
Need to do a MRI?
Need to run genetic blood panels?
Everything has been a to-do list with the results coming out as facts. Knowledge I now know and can use to advocate for my own self.
But I haven’t really let myself feel what I’m going through. I’ve been as positive as I can for my kids. But I haven’t really let myself sit and feel the weight of my diagnosis. Yes, I have stage 1 cancer. Yes, it’s so treatable. Yes, I’m so entirely blessed we caught it so early.
But – it’s still cancer. That’s still a hard diagnosis to hear. It’s a diagnosis I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But it’s here and I’m dealing with it… and I think overall pretty well.
But last night, after coming into an event as a patient and not a cancer advocate, I got into my car on the way home, called my best friends and cried. Cried for the diagnosis. Cried for what my kids have to watch me go through. Cried for maybe having to have a mastectomy and lose a literal part of myself. I just let myself feel the weight of it all. Not trying to make a plan and be proactive. Just feel.
I have cancer. It’s changed my plans going into fall. It’s paused my job search. It’s affecting my kids and our plans for the holidays. It’s all a readjustment. And I’m okay to let myself feel sad about that.
I may have cancer. But cancer doesn’t have me. We will get up and move and readjust and get a new plan and fight forward. In a few months it will be all good.
But today, and last night, I spent some time just sitting in it all. Being the patient. Letting myself rest. And knowing it’s okay to let myself feel this journey as much as fight it.
: of my new tattoo because I thought upside down it looked like boobs