This Sunday, June 22cnd, it’ll be twenty-five years since I heard the words, “You have cancer.” I’d gone for a routine mammogram during my lunch break; now, I think there’s no such thing as a routine anything. On any given day, what was routine can become something extraordinary — whether good or bad. I don’t think anyone ever forgets that stinging news of having cancer — just like news of any other life-threatening illness.

Besides the shock of that moment, sitting beside the radiologist while she pointed to the area of concern on the film, the other thing I remember clearly is my initial visit with the surgeon; that’s one reason I’m writing this post. I was sitting in dread, waiting to hear what was next. Even though I’m a nurse, I didn’t know much about cancer treatment at that time. I was working in clinical research doing pharmaceutical studies and it had been many years since I’d worked with oncology patients. What came to me first with hearing I had breast cancer was a high school classmate that had died a few years before; she was the face of breast cancer for me. I had no knowledge of what type she had or her course of treatment. In my head, I went to the worst case scenario.

But sitting in the surgeon’s office, waiting for them to call me back, a woman who appeared to be close to my age, came in and walked up to the registration desk. She was smiling and greeted the staff.

“Well, I’m still here!” she said, with warmth and energy in her voice. “It’s been 8 years now.”

I listened as she talked with them about how she’d struggled through treatment and eventually got beyond that tough time. Hearing her say “it’s been 8 years” filled me with hope. I can survive this, I thought. I’d been in a state of shock and doom since I’d first received the diagnosis of cancer. Hearing the woman tell her story had given me my first ray of hope.

I reached my five years post treatment; that was the critical milestone for me. At that visit, my oncologist gave me a high five and said, “You’re the good news I’ve had today. In my 20+ years of treating patients with Triple-Negative Breast Cancer like yours, I’ve never had anyone with a recurrence after five years.”

When I was collecting my things to leave the exam room, I told the nurse what my doctor had said, and how glad I was to hear about the lack of recurrence.

She listened while she handed me my check-out paper, and said, matter-of-factly, “Well, it doesn’t mean you can’t be diagnosed with another form of cancer.” Now, I guess she meant another subtype of breast cancer, but when I heard it I thought she was referring to any type of cancer. It felt like she was raining on my sunshine. I guess she was just trying to give me accurate medical information.

But whatever she meant, over the years we know we’ll face many challenges. Dealing with breast cancer at 45 years old was the first major health challenge I’d ever experienced. It became the benchmark for how to handle tough times. It was an education in how to face the thing we dread and to not only survive, but in time, thrive. Cancer was the teacher in how to slow down and listen to my body. It gave me empathy for how it feels to be a patient instead of a health care provider, to be the one who is vulnerable instead of the one who is strong.

As the years progressed from the time I went through treatment, I grew further apart from the survivors’ groups and fundraising activities for breast cancer. I became involved in other activities and talked with fewer people about my experience, about the steps you take to get through the ordeal.

But then five years ago, I moved into an apartment and met a neighbor who was going through cancer treatment. She and her husband had moved to NC from Florida to help take care of their new granddaughter. But soon after moving, she was diagnosed and started treatment, not able to tend her grandchild as she’d hoped. When I shared with her that I’d had cancer, there was a softening in her face.

“Then you understand what it’s like to have nausea and not want to eat,” she said, as if relieved to finally have someone who got it. “My family just doesn’t understand why I can’t always eat what they cook for me.”

Throughout her months of treatment, her husband would sometimes confide in me when I passed him on the sidewalk. He seemed overwhelmed, understandably so, by the day-to-day of taking care of her and trying to maintain his job. I was impressed by his kindness for his wife. Many times I was reminded how important it is to share with those who’re going through a similar illness — even if it was years ago; you have legitimacy as one who has been in their shoes.

Those years you’ve had since diagnosis give hope to the newly diagnosed. That’s what I learned that day in the surgeon’s office. And now I’m thankful for those 25 years and for the people along the way that have helped me, and those I’ve helped. It takes that kind of support to make it through life’s challenges.

Best to you all,

Connie