Surviving Cancer with a Side of Sass

I don’t know what was harder, hearing “you’ve got cancer” or calling my parents, who live thousands of miles away, to tell them.

They already knew about the “I found something on my breast” situation. They were waiting for the follow-up call, hoping it would be one of those false alarms life sometimes throws at you.

But this wasn’t one of those.

I walked into that biopsy result appointment with my brother. The nurse practitioner looked at me and said, “I’m sorry… it’s cancer” and just like that, the air left the room.

I mean, I knew it deep down. But it hits different when someone confirms it using the C-word with the kind of seriousness you only see in documentaries.

I cried. A lot. The nurse practitioner hugged me. I held onto her like she was a floating door in the Titanic. She didn’t rush me. (Bless her soul)

My brother sat beside me and cried too which was rare. He’s the type who processes feelings like it’s a software update he’ll install later.

Then came the part I was dreading more than chemo, telling my parents.

I called Dada. I couldn’t say anything at first. Just cried and he knew that the verdict is out but he didn’t ask me to speak. He waited. Then I told him, “It’s cancer.”

He tried to be strong. But then I heard him crying.

I’ve only seen my father cry twice. Once when his mom passed away. The second time, this call.

He said, “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Just rest tonight.”

The next morning, I called Mama. She’s strong the kind of woman who reads every food label, takes her vitamins, and can recite home remedies like holy scripture. But she didn’t say a word after I told her. I just heard her cry quietly.

I didn’t talk to her without tearing up for weeks after.

For a moment, I thought I should fly back home. But my family doctor gently nudged me to stay in Canada. “You’ll get the best care here,” he said.

And so, I stayed solo.

I was living with my brother and his family. I had a roof and food and that’s more than many have but emotionally? I felt like a guest overstaying her welcome, dragging in chemo appointments and emotional baggage.

I didn’t want to burden anyone, especially people who didn’t sign up to be my caregivers. So I handled it. Appointments, bloodwork, scans, EI applications, Trillium drug benefits… even my rides to treatment with the Cancer Society’s Wheels of Hope program. (and sometimes, Uber because even hope runs out of drivers.)

I went to all 16 chemo infusions alone.

For surgery, my brother and his wife dropped me off and picked me up, but the overnight hospital stay? That was me, the IV machine, and my dramatic internal monologue.

Radiation? Me again.

Immunotherapy? Same solo rider.

And the weird part? I didn’t even ask for help. I’ve had this lifelong issue, it’s called “I-can-do-it-myself” Even when I was literally dying, I didn’t want to bother anyone.

But I wasn’t really alone. I had God, and I had prayers sent from halfway across the world and sometimes, that was enough.

I had family and friends who were willing to help me whenever they can but I didn’t reach out except for one time when I had a late night scan appointment where my friend and her fiancé drove me and I swear it felt like a limo ride to the Oscars.

If you have a partner in care or a support system please, please don’t take them for granted. They carry more than bags and meds. They carry the emotional overflow we can’t always manage ourselves.

And if you don’t have one?

Know this: your strength might surprise you. Some days, surviving is the only item on the to-do list, and that’s more than enough.

Someone in my support group once said that cancer is like being separated from the rest of the world by a glass wall. They see you. They’re with you. But they don’t always get it.

You might look good on the outside. But inside? It’s a battleground of meds, fatigue, and feelings you didn’t know existed.

So speak up when you can. Ask for help when you need to. And if they stay? That’s your people. If they don’t? That’s your clarity.

Remember, you are not just surviving this. You are showing up for your life, bruised but breathing, cracked but not broken.

“The strongest people are not those who show strength in front of us but those who win battles we know nothing about.”
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