It’s a predictably sunny, hot day in Los Angeles. You’ve just finished breastfeeding Caden, who will turn 10 months-old in two days. When he looks at you with those adoring gray eyes, you’re reminded that this is one of the happiest times of your life. You struggled for years to have him, and now he’s here, warm and delicious. Yet all hell is about to be unleashed.
Everyone at PinkLotusBreastCenter greets you with their typical cheeriness, but your breast specialist, Dr. Kristi Funk, is a bit more somber. She tells you that the biopsy is cancerous, but that we’ll fight this together. Your instinct will be to believe her, and you’re not wrong. Her calm, kind demeanor will reassure you today and in the months and years ahead. Trust that you have the best possible person in your corner.
As she goes over the diagnosis and treatment strategies, you’ll listen intently like a dutiful student, never once getting emotional. It’s as if the entire experience is happening to someone else, and you’re a voyeuristic intruder. You’ll get upset only when you’re home and you see your baby jumping up and down in his seat, flailing his arms about, and offering you the most joyful expression imaginable. It will feel like the universe is pulling a rotten prank, giving you this beautiful baby and then making you face your mortality.
But please know this: your illness will take you on one of the most enlightening and important journeys of your life. Plenty of people say that, and it sounds like a big pile of bullshit. You’ll find that it’s true, though. Have faith that your diagnosis will grant you eye-opening experiences that you couldn’t possibly anticipate and lots of delightful surprises that take your breath away.
A word of warning—it’s gonna be rough for awhile. The multiple surgeries and chemotherapy will kick the crap out of you. No one ever said that cancer is for the faint-hearted, you know. And in your darkest moments, you’ll entertain worst-case scenarios. The fear will be primal because you’ve never had so much to lose. Fortunately, you have more strength than you’ve ever given yourself credit for. Let yourself process what’s happening by giving the full rainbow of emotions a big bear hug. You can handle it.
Now, on to the good stuff…
Know that your heart will do a little dance for every act of kindness shown to you. Your belief that people are compassionate, and that their intentions are honorable and sincere, will be restored. Others will inspire you with their loving, generous spirit so much, in fact, that you’ll write a book in their honor. You’ll implore others to reach out to someone diagnosed with breast cancer, because the healing power of social support is extraordinary. And guess what? You’ll get to see this from the front row as the lucky beneficiary of countless kind deeds.
Know that you’re about to learn a few critically important lessons, too. For one, embrace a crisis, at least as much as you can muster. Why? Because you never know what precious, life-changing gifts will come as a result of it. If you’re looking for an example, here’s one: you’ll meet fascinating people who will forever own a piece of your heart. As models of grace and courage, they’ll enrich your life, and you’ll be a better person for having known them. What a welcomed reminder to focus on relationships and experiences instead of noisy nonsense that just doesn’t matter. As for those closest to you, you’ve always known how much you love them, but it’s taken to a stratospheric level during your illness. More than ever, you’ll want to nurture and cherish each of those relationships. Never lose sight of the fact that these bonds are what will bring the most joy and fulfillment to your life.
Here are a couple more nuggets of advice as you start your cancer journey in earnest:
Let people help. Don’t be so stoic that you deny friends and family this opportunity, which is comforting and healing to them. Remember, it’s a scary time for those who care about you, too. They want to help. Let them.
At the other end of the spectrum, some people you thought you could count on will disappear during your illness. They won’t know what to say or do, so they’ll check out. If ever there was a test of forgiveness, this is it. Recognize that not everyone is wired to step up in a crisis, and ultimately, their apparent indifference has nothing to do with you. It may be challenging at times, but try your darnedest to not take it personally.
Another thing—don’t be mad at your body. It didn’t betray you. In fact, it’ll work like hell to get you well. Help it in any way you can. Be as tender and loving to it as you would be to a newborn baby, both during treatment and in the years ahead.
You have a lot to sort out, so I’m going to wrap it up here. I saved the simplest yet most profound piece of wisdom for last, and I’m asking you to please keep it handy moving forward: operate from a place of gratitude, and you’ll never be steered off course. Take a pause and appreciate all of life’s moments, both grand and small. They’re worth fighting for. I promise.
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