I’ve always been an enthusiastic person with a vision to live a fulfilling life. From a young age, I had a timeline I followed, and for the most part, I stuck to it. My loved ones often told me I was too harsh on myself and should cut myself some slack. But I was always worried I wouldn’t achieve my goals in time to fulfill my life’s mission.
In the process, I migrated to a new country, seeking a better life and to support my family. My parents never expected anything from me (well, they never had to. I’m still single, so my family is just my mom and dad). As I was figuring out how to navigate life in a foreign country, among unfamiliar faces and surroundings, an unexpected visitor knocked on my door. And by “visitor,” I mean cancer.
Just a week before my 32nd birthday, I was diagnosed with stage 3, grade 3, locally advanced invasive ductal carcinoma. All the cancer receptors (ER, PR, HER2) were negative. My primary tumor was in my breast, and at the time of diagnosis, it had spread to my lymph nodes. To make matters worse, I was diagnosed with one of the most aggressive forms of cancer, and I had to begin treatments immediately.
Like most people, I noticed something was wrong when I felt a lump in my breast while doing some chores. I told my family doctor that I wanted to get it tested. His immediate response was, “You’re too young to have cancer, but let’s get the tests done.” I’m thankful I insisted on getting the test done when I did. If I hadn’t, my journey might look very different from where I am today.
Now, I’ve always hated hospitals. There was a time when I dreamed of becoming a doctor, but with my deep-seated aversion to hospitals, I knew it wasn’t going to be my path. Yet, with my diagnosis, I found myself at the hospital two to three times a week for blood work, scans, consultations, and more.
I was also told I might carry the BRCA 1/2 gene mutation, which could explain the aggressiveness of my cancer. Thankfully, the test came back negative. But the report revealed I had various unknown mutations that I’ll need to check on later with a genetic counselor. Lucky me, right?
Being single, I was told I might need to preserve my eggs if I ever wanted to have biological children. Not exactly the kind of decision a hopeful romantic like me was ready to make, especially since I’ve lived most of my life single. But cancer doesn’t give you a choice. With a ticking timer in front of me, I had to make decisions I never imagined having to make.
I was referred to a fertility clinic, where I had to do more tests. They said I could start the procedure, but my CT scan showed that my cancer had spread. So, it was time to choose: either preserve my eggs or focus on my life now, as I was told my cancer required immediate treatment. My oncologist left the decision up to me, but I wasn’t ready to let go of the possibility of having children someday. After considering alternatives, I opted for Zoladex (Goserelin Implant), which helps preserve reproductive organs during chemotherapy essentially putting me into medically induced menopause.
My treatment plan included 16 infusions spread over 24 weeks. I had a PICC line (a catheter in my arm to administer the chemo). Imagine having a foreign object hanging from your arm, limiting your clothing options. I didn’t want my PICC line to be on full display, so I had to wear a cover to prevent it from getting tangled with my clothes and one when showering. And as someone with sensitive skin and a severe allergy to adhesives, you can imagine how “fun” that was.
All jokes aside, there was a time when I thought I might not make it through. I was in a very dark place. But journaling, practicing mindfulness, and looking at the entire experience with a bit of humor helped me navigate it. I’ve always had a dark sense of humor, and cancer brought that side of me out even more. I hope that’s not too controversial to say, but that’s the truth. It helped me get through, and now, I want to share my journey with you all because if I can make you laugh instead of worrying about what happens next, I’m happy.
Remember that strict timeline I had for myself? Well, I don’t follow it anymore. I trust the timing of my bloom and still live my life to the fullest even though cancer hasn’t completely left my life. It feels like having a stalker for life, but hey, I’m still here, and I’m still living.
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