In March 2018, at 29, I was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer. Doctor appointments, surgeries, in vitro fertlization (IVF), and chemotherapy all swiftly became my new life. Daily morning or evening walks when the sun wasn’t fully out, returning to teach in the fall, and talking with friends at a coffee shop were fair game, if I wasn’t exhausted. But I had to sit out on seeing my students graduate high school, going to summer music and food festivals, taking road trips to see friends, going to the pool, attending weddings, pedicures, reading books. All the simple things that made up my life were halted because my chemo brain and immune system wouldn’t allow it. I became an unwilling spectator of life as the world continued moving. Trips were cancelled. Plans put off or rain-checked. Relationships changed. Dreams on hold. It made me feel a lot of things — but October 2, the end of chemo, was a visible finish line that allowed hope and new dreams to ignite. The week after chemo finished, I went to New York City for a Breasties event (breast and reproductive cancer support group). As I explored all the neighborhoods and walked everywhere my body would let me, I couldn’t get enough. My eyes were opened, as if the clouds that hid the future from me had parted slightly. I was alive, and I wanted to enjoy every moment. This spark set into motion intentionality. Instead of falling into the default and allowing life to happen to me, I began examining my life. This led to moving to Atlanta after 13 years in Iowa, teaching middle school, saying yes more, and beginning to dream of my future again. RELATED: 11 Inspiring Women Affected by Breast Cancer to Follow on Instagram
Confronting COVID-19 as a Cancer Survivor
Recently, after being inundated with COVID-19 news, my chest began to tighten. I was flooded with emotions. I couldn’t put into words why or what I was feeling. I wanted to run from it; but instead, I allowed myself to sit in it and feel. It felt as if the world was coming to a halt. The feeling of mass panic was almost palpable, as shelves emptied, toilet paper became a commodity, people were self-quarantining, and the once-packed freeways of Atlanta became deserted. I was angry. The world had become the spectator, but I didn’t want to stop moving. This time, my body is healthy and able to do all the things I want, but the world won’t let me. My life has been put on pause, again. Trips that were once rescheduled from chemo have been put off again. I am unable to see my students every day. Projects and get-togethers with important groups are indefinitely rain-checked. I cannot travel to see my family. And this time, there is no visible finish line. RELATED: What You Need to Know About Living With a Compromised Immune System During COVID-19 Outbreak Seeing masks in public spaces feels as if the world has become a giant chemo ward where all the pubic are medical professionals. The smell of medical-grade cleaning supplies causes a very visceral reaction as it pulls me right back into the operating room, where it made sense that all was sterile. Unable to rid my nose of hand sanitizer, I’m stuck feeling like my port is constantly being cleaned and accessed for blood work and treatment. While it would put others at ease knowing that the germs had been annihilated, I had slight nausea and anxiety. I didn’t realize how triggered I was. I hated that realization. It came with sadness, fear, embarrassment, and anger all at once. I felt as if cancer still had this lingering control over me, and I didn’t even know. Wasn’t I past all this? It had been almost a year and half since finishing chemo; at what point would the trauma of cancer be done running its course? Would there be lifelong triggers? I wanted to yell at it, to tell it to leave me alone and let me continue my life. RELATED: How Will COVID-19 Impact Cancer Research?
How I’m Finding Intention in the ‘New Normal’
I felt resentment that I couldn’t react to the pandemic like a normal person — buying all of the milk, bread, and toilet paper my apartment could hold. Nor could I find the silver lining of using the “downtime” to read books, become a yogi, and spring clean. I was embarrassed that I felt triggered. Embarrassed because these reactions felt selfish; this pandemic was ravaging the lives of so many around the globe, and yet the anger and anxiety of a life on hold — my life — was a feeling I couldn’t escape from. So I wrote and journaled, just like I did when I was diagnosed. In doing so, I remembered that those feelings were and are valid. Cancer will always be part of my story, but I don’t have to let it control the narrative. Even though it is hard for me to see the finish line, I reminded myself that it is there. After identifying it and talking it through, my chest loosened slightly. Cancer provoked intentionality in me. Every moment and decision was not subject to the default, but a choice I would actively make. While I feel slightly uprooted, I will remind myself to bring that intention to each day — ground it in what I do and allow it to help me adjust to this “temporary” new normal. If you’re feeling any kind of way, I encourage you to reach out to someone; a loved one, a friend, a licensed medical professional. It helps to know that we are not alone and accept that sometimes experiences can bring past emotions into the light. RELATED: Boxed In: ‘COVID-19 and Your Mental Health’
