Last Monday June 22 was twenty-six years since I heard my doctor say, “You have cancer.” Nobody forgets that moment. After those words, you can’t hear anything but the repeating thought, “I have cancer, I have cancer . . .” In the years that followed, each follow-up visit to the oncologist was accompanied by a feeling of nauseous dread. When I reached that all-important fifth year visit and I was cancer free, I let out the breath I’d been holding.

I’ve been fortunate that I haven’t had a return of breast cancer or any other life-threatening illness. When I kept my grandsons last week, they saw my memoir, He Heard My Voice sitting on my desk. My 6 yr old grandson, Parks had just won the writing award for his class and I told him one day his name could be on a book. He and his older brother, Baker looked at the cover and there was a spark of recognition, maybe because of the name Riddle that we share.

“What’s the book about, Grammy?” Baker, who’s 8 and just completed 2nd grade, asked.

“It’s the story of when I had cancer and a horrible job and then eventually things worked out,” I answered. “That woman on the cover represents me when I went to Sedona after my treatment.”

He appeared startled by this news.

“You had cancer?”

“Yes, but I had a good doctor and I got well. God helped me through that hard time like He helps all of us.”

I realized that Baker is more aware of things at his age. His mother, my daughter-in-law, Emily is a Nurse Navigator in Breast Oncology at UNC Medical Center — where I was treated. Baker’s friend’s grandmother has cancer — so I assume he’s overheard conversations. He reminded me that the word “cancer” causes that reaction in many people.

When I was at my first appointment with the surgeon, scared to death, a woman came in the office and was talking to the receptionist. The woman told the receptionist, “It’s been eight years since I was diagnosed and I’m fine.” Overhearing that conversation gave me hope when I was feeling afraid. Thinking back on that experience reminds me that sharing my story, of 26 years since my diagnosis, can give someone hope.

Looking back on the eight months of my treatment, I made three discoveries that helped me through that trying time:

The first was being intentional about how to handle difficult days. In the post for 6/23/24 Cancerversary: The Things You Carry this is how I described one way I coped:

“During cancer treatment, I paired the bitter with the sweet. On days when I had to spend too much time in doctors’ appointments, I’d reward myself afterwards with shopping or exploring a new area. The days that were most taxing with several hours of chemo infusions, I’d go home and make myself a bowl of ice cream with crunched up cookies and eat it in bed while watching a favorite t.v. show.”

Now I’d say you can do that with other things in your life that are difficult, finding a way to balance the hard times with good things.

The second discovery was learning to listen to my body and follow my intuition about what I needed. At 45 yr old, I’d been in that stage of life of being ‘Supermom’ with teenage sons and a full-time job and all the accompanying activities, I was used to looking at what everybody else needed. When you have cancer, or any life-changing illness, you need to step back from that automatic role and look at what you need: more rest? time alone? quiet? a ride in the country? someone to bring a meal? I admit I could have done a better job with that.

Asking others for what you need gives them the opportunity to feel good about helping — something they can do since they can’t change the diagnosis or treatment regimen.

And lastly, it’s important to Look to the Future. What did I want to do when I finished my treatment? It helps to envision when you’ll feel good again. Between chemotherapy ending in November and radiation starting in January, our family took a trip to Washington D.C. to enjoy a show at the Kennedy Center and see the winter beauty of our nation’s capital. Once I’d completed radiation and had weeks to recover, my oncologist cleared me to travel. That was when I made that life-changing trip to Sedona that became a template for my Solo Journeys.

My hope is that by sharing my story, someone will be encouraged in their journey — through cancer or another crisis. Twenty-six years later, I have been through other difficult things. But as with cancer, my faith, family, and friends were the anchors through the hard time. And I’d also say that I found I was stronger than I thought with internal resources that I’d never realized were inside me.

Best to you wherever you are on this life journey.

Connie