Your pieces are so thought provoking and today's especially so. Maybe because you say, we've all been through difficult things. When I hear that, I think "but my difficult thing wasn't as bad as other people's, so I don't need to speak it." Talk about stuffing it in a drawer. First time public confession: I was raped when I was twenty-one. I didn't tell anyone, because I knew the guy. The term "date rape" had not yet entered the lexicon.
I'd been taken out to dinner by a cute, successful young man and I was smitten. After dinner, we went to his house for a drink -- such a grown up thing it felt like at twenty-one. And it was during the sipping of my adult cocktail, feeling on top of the world, that he pushed me back on the couch and pinned my hands down and went from cute guy to rough guy. It hurt. I said no. I was afraid and afterward, I tried my best to straighten my skirt and top and walk out the door. My panties were still on the floor, but I couldn't even stop to pick them up. I just wanted to get home. Home, where I did everything I shouldn't have - didn't report the crime, took the longest shower in the world, cried alone and vowed never to tell anyone.
A few days later, I went to Planned Parenthood, afraid that I might be pregnant. Too early to tell, of course. The kind doctor who examined me said she could tell that I'd been raped because I was torn. Yes, I still hurt. She tried to get me to talk about it, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. I felt like it was my fault. I carried what I thought was a shameful story most of my life and only in my mid-sixties did I review it, and cry for that young woman that was me. I tell my stories now without worry of shame or blame -- rape stories never leave us, a lot like cancer stories I imagine.
On that note, I thank you for opening the door and inviting us to share a difficult time, a difficult passage. Some passages just take longer than others as the center pointe still lingers nearby. Thank you for this and biggest of hugs.
Oh, dear friend, I'm so sorry to learn that this happened to you. It hurts my heart to think you endured such a horrendous thing. Add to that, the shame and self-blame you felt, it's heartbreaking. Thank you for sharing about it in such detail here. I'm honored that you did.
Bearing witness to the pain of others is so important to me and to this community. You never know who might read your words and feel seen and heard. Imagining the comfort and understanding you might bring to someone else who's been through this and reads your words, fills me with such gratitude for your bravery. I hope sharing here also heals you a bit more.
Sending you the biggest hugs right back. Thank you so much for sharing about this horrible trauma you went through and have had to live with all this years. I appreciate you.
It was over fifty years ago, but as you know some wounds you can always feel, even after they've healed over. I didn't realize how much I needed to just tell the story -- to get it out of me and to be met by the love and kindness of the women here. It was the first time I told the story in a setting like this, but this time I told it without the ringing of shame in my ears. Thank you for creating the space. I appreciate you right back. Maybe my words will help someone else as yours do. Big hugs.
Oh, Stephanie, it doesn't matter how long ago that horrible ordeal was. As you said some wounds you can always feel, even after they've healed over. Truth, that's what that is. I'm so glad you felt comfortable enough to share here -- to get it out -- and be met by love and kindness. I just know you are helping others by doing so. Big hugs back.
Oh Stephanie, my heart is just breaking for you, and I'm so sorry this happened. There are no words. All I can say is thank you for sharing your story. I'm in tears, and I am sending you hugs and love.
#MeToo. Thank you for sharing. I understand how difficult it is to talk about it. The shame is real. I’m not ready yet to open up, but greatly appreciate you telling your story.
Sometimes I have to remind myself Susan, that it's not just my story, not just your story, it's the story and this, unfortunately is part of the story of woman. I link my arm through yours. You are never alone and you are not broken -- I said that for me, too. And to that end, sweet woman, #MeToo takes on a little different hue. With love and appreciation.
That is so true. What happens to one of us, in a sense happens to all of us. Women have been suffering from the trauma of rape for centuries. In a sense, when you share your story, you are helping us all bear witness to all those stories, too.
I’m so grateful for your comforting words. Yes as women, linking arms is a beautiful way to understand we are not broken or alone, by these circumstances. Your willingness to share what happened is so empowering. Thank you.
I had two lumpectomies two years ago, one on each breast. The left breast in which the larger tumor resided is now smaller than the right breast and also higher up. When I look down at my breasts I can see the nipple on my right breast, but not on my left. I have a friend who had a similar situation and had surgery to make her breasts match. That is beyond me, but to your point, I notice every day. The other noticing I do is my left breast collects lymph because the nodes under my left arm were removed so I have this Lump of lymph that I need to massage out of my breast every day. Will this ever go away? Probably not. My mother died of breast cancer at the age of 50. I miss her every day and particularly miss the fact that she never got to see her granddaughters. I’ve written a book of poetry to honor both her journey and mine, which will be released in June. I’m hoping to read from the book in the breast cancer recovery community.
I think the most important thing I can do is to recognize that each woman’s journey is different and and the impact of breast cancer varies, but no matter where you are, it helps to know you’re not alone.
Yes, I'm sure you notice those changes every single day. How could you not? And the lymph that you must massage out every day is a reminder, too. I'm sorry you've had to deal with all that.
And I'm so sorry about your mother. Dying at 50 is tragic. I'm sorry she didn't get to meet her granddaughters and just keep living her life. I miss my mother every day, too. Cancer is such a thief.
It's wonderful you've written a book of poetry. Keep me posted on that. And you're so right that we need to recognize every person's experience is different. Always helps knowing we're not alone. Just one reason to love this community.
Thank you for joining in on this conversation. I appreciate you.
I actually don’t think about cancer everyday; even though the scars are there. I also have stopped talking to my cancer meds when I take them each day; yes, I have done that in the past. Started this journey in 1989 with a mastectomy. I am and have been Stage 4 for quite awhile; right now it has been quiet for almost 2 years. Lucky for me I know if it gets noisy again my oncologist still has a few ideas.
My mantra for meditation is “I am at peace” and I try to move about that way.
Nancy, I don't think about cancer much these days. I haven't been to an oncologist for almost ten years. My PCP orders my annual mammograms and I'm good with that. Because I moved out-of-state, it made it easier for me to discontinue my oncology appointments.
I completely understand still thinking and stressing about it. It was a hugely traumatic experience for me and it took me a long time to process. There are no timetables and each of us has our own experience. I think the reason I don't think about it much is because the residuals, for me, were full-blown ME/CFS (chronic fatigue syndrome). So I live with that and it's become more of my focus, even though it's an extension of cancer treatment. Since its chronic, I've just gotten tired of being the sick person. I try to live my life as best I can, enjoying the people and things that I can.
Wow, ten years! That's amazing, I'm happy for you and hope you never again have need for one.
I don't stress about cancer much these days. But think about it, oh yeah, for the reasons I mentioned. Plus, my mother's experience is always within easy recall reach. And just recently a sibling was diagnosed with cancer. I can't not think about cancer. Plus, there's the advocacy work that continues.
I'm sorry you've had to deal with chronic fatigue syndrome as a result of cancer treatment. That sucks. All any of us can do is try to live our best lives. As I wrote in EMERGING, that's the best and really only way to honor those who don't survive.
Thank you for reading and taking time to comment. I appreciate you, my friend. Stay well.
Nancy, I'm so sorry to hear your sibling has cancer. Here's a hug from me. And thank you for your continued advocacy. You have helped more people than you can imagine.
Eileen, I appreciate your kind words. And, yes, it's devastating news about my sibling. I won't be sharing much about that for privacy reasons. I feel and welcome that hug. Sending one back to you.
Nancy, these words are a powerful reminder that healing isn’t a linear path and it doesn’t have an expiration date. Fifteen years out and still reflecting, still processing – that’s real, and it’s okay. There’s a sense in our culture that we should "get over" things and move on swiftly, but life just isn't that simple. Your sharing is an encouragement to everyone to allow themselves the time and space to process, integrate, and, as you said, incorporate these experiences. Your journey gives permission to those of us still navigating the impact of past traumas. You’re showing us that we can be whole, even with the lingering echoes.
Yes, the integrating of trauma's impact is a life-long process. At least it is for me. Plus, cancer lurks in my family's DNA, so there's no escaping it. I don't necessarily think about my cancer experience every day, (once I'm dressed anyway, lol) but think about cancer, you bet I do.
Validating and giving permission to those still navigating the impact of past trauma (any kind) to take their time and do so in their own way is exactly why I keep talking about cancer and grief. It remains at the core of my advocacy.
Thank you for your kind and understanding words. I appreciate you.
Like you, breast cancer was a huge trauma for me. How can it not be? Treatment was hell, compounded by the fact that my then-husband was draining all our finances. He also refused to go with me to treatments and told me on the day I was diagnosed that he was planning to leave me, and left me begging him to stay. How dehumanizing for me to go through all this on top of a cancer diagnosis! I had to work two jobs while having chemo and radiation simultaneously. People wonder how I did it. I had no choice and was in survival mode. After treatment, I kicked his ass to the curb and found that life eventually got better once I was divorced.
While I am glad I had the DIEP flap and all the life-saving treatments before this major surgery, I am reminded by cancer every single day. My radiated breast is smaller than the non-radiated one. I wish I didn't get the nipples (no, not TMI in my opinion) because the tattooed ones look nothing like my original ones.
I think your not wanting an appointment with your oncologist is wonderful. I wish I had the guts to do that at year 15. As you know, my oncologist retired, leaving me upset and rejected. But I've decided not to get another one at this time.
Thank you for encouraging all of us to share our hard. Because it's important to bear witness to our hurts.
Yes, cancer is a huge trauma, that's for sure. Your experience was doubly traumatic since you were also dealing with a marriage that was falling apart and eventually the divorce. It had to be such a difficult time in your life trying to just stay afloat, keep your job, get to treatments, deal with the side effects, and on and on. I'm sorry. Glad you kicked your x's ass to the curb, though.
Our bodies go through a lot. Reconstruction is exactly that. Reconstruction. We're grateful, of course, but we'll always miss our originals. Oh, and I did have reconstructed nipples, but they didn't last. Reabsorbed, or whatever the medical term is. Tattoos didn't last either. Ugh...
As I mentioned in reply to Susan's comment, my appointments just seemed somewhat pointless the last couple years. And I love my PCP, so I'm still in good hands. I didn't know you decided not to get a new oncologist. I know that has to be hard, too.
It's so important to share our stories, share our hard. As you said, it's important to bear witness. To our own hard, and to the hard others endure. Thank you for being here and adding to this conversation. I appreciate you.
My reconstructed nipples didn't last either; the tattoo color is gone, so sometimes I wonder why I didn't just say no to all the tattooing, which was ugly anyway.
Yes, I decided not to get a new oncologist. In a way, it is liberating; although he was excellent, the appointments stirred up my PTSD every single time. In another way, it's frightening. I really like my new PCP, and she hasn't recommended another oncologist. Some oncologists are assholes, so I feel a sense of peace right now not dealing with a new cancer doc.
"Cancer may not define me, but like it or not, it is part of “my definition” now." Yes, so true. What we have experienced does shape and shift us. It becomes part of our story, a part of who we are. And a part of the wisdom we have to share with those just beginning their journey. Well said. Thank you. ❤️
Yes, all our experiences get woven into the tapestry of our lives. All of our stories are unique, complex, and deeply personal. All the more reason to take them out of that drawer and share them.
Thank you for adding to this conversation. I appreciate you.
Come back and share a hard thing you've been through, if you care to, and when you feel ready.
Thank you for your kind words and the validation they offer. I know you understand on a deep level that question you mentioned. Yes, there is story within each of us. Remembrance is part of the processing. Part of the integrating. Part of who we become.
I appreciate your presence in this space and the depth you bring to the conversations. I appreciate you.
I had a bilateral mastectomy with diep flap reconstruction 3 years ago. Yes, I think about it everyday, especially when showering. One plus for me is that I can wear almost any top without worrying about showing nipples. That is nice in case it gets chilly. I'm not going to bother getting tattoos. I have had enough needles to last forever. I wonder, is it OK to go topless on a beach? Just kidding!
I won't be getting tattoos again either. Did it once when I had implants. I'm so done with needles and such, too. As much as possible anyway.
Yeah, I hear you on the wearing what you want for tops. But it's not a good tradeoff. Nipple envy is real. And I guess it depends on what beach you're talking about! Ha.
It resonates deeply to read your words, Nancy. Like you, the physical reminders are constant companions. My own scars tell a story of what was lost and what has changed. And for me the emotional scars, while less visible, are still the hardest part of this for me. Thank you for articulating so well that cancer is not a gift. It's a thief, an unwelcome intruder that leaves its mark in countless ways. Integrating this experience into our lives is a continuous process, and the work doesn't end when treatment does.
I know your emotional scars are so very painful. As I've said many times, breast cancer is a string of losses. Yet, at the same time, our hearts can hold so much gratitude, too. Thank you for letting me know this one resonated and for adding to this discussion. I appreciate you, friend.
Thank you for sharing your story. It really helps me to know I’m not alone. No, I didn’t have cancer, ok I did, but it was skin type and removed with margins, so I was fine. It was still and sometimes is still scary. But the trauma I am healing from now is a colin/intestinal surgery caused by an infection I had for almost a year. I went to multiple doctors and was given antibiotics for UTI’s I never really had. No one looked closer. Until they finally did and whoosh I was in an emergency room and on my way to wait for major surgery. The pain was difficult but the worst was not being able to lift or move or do yoga. The scar is large, and I see it everyday in the mirror. I’m beginning to not cringe at it but thank my body for its strength and stamina that kept me alive until I got the medical help I needed. I’m grateful to the surgeon and nurses who helped me. The biggest thing I’m finding out now is something no one talked to me about: emotional healing from the trauma. I’ve heard from others I’m not alone feeling this and it is a part of the recovery process. It’s good to know I’m not going crazy.
You are definitely not alone. Gosh, it sounds like you've been through an ordeal. Thank goodness someone finally did look closer and you got the attention and treatment you deserved and needed all along. I'm sorry you had to suffer through so much pain and that you were misdiagnosed.
I understand about the scars. Boy, do I. We can cringe a little and still feel tremendous gratitude and love for our bodies. You are so right that emotional healing matters a lot and is seldom properly addressed. Emotional healing is most definitely part of the recovery process.
One more thing, don't downplay your skin cancer experience either. All cancer is scary. And remember, you're not going crazy!
Thank you for sharing about your hard. I appreciate you.
I still think about cancer every day. It’s been almost 18 years since my local recurrence of breast cancer. My original oncologist left her practice after my primary treatment, so I see my new oncologist every year. I am grateful that I haven’t had to be in the trenches with her and I want to keep it that way.
But I know that er+ tends to recur later and unfortunately 2 of my friends in a bc group have gone mets 20 years later. and my chemo bestie (TNBC) died in 2012. I’m too chicken to stop going to the onc because there’s lots of different types of cancer on my late father’s side so that keeps me doing any surveillance possible.
But the choice you are making feels right for you and I am truly hoping and praying it stays dormant. And I appreciate that you are making space for everyone with local and metastatic disease. These choices have to be right sized for each individual patient.
Sending you lots of good juju and sweet times with Luka!
My original oncologist left years ago. I've had eight. I'm not a difficult patient either! A couple just didn't work out and one was a temporary. I like the one I have/had now as he's very knowledgable and really listens. We just don't do much at appointments anymore other than bloodwork and a minimal exam. Not that I'm complaining, I just don't see the point anymore. At the same time, it does make me a little nervous.
It's very understandable you feel more comfortable continuing to see yours. It's scary when cancer lurks in your family. As you know, it does in mine, too. I'm thinking about joining a pancreatic cancer study at Mayo in Rochester, MN as I'm at higher risk being brca2+. The benefit wouldn't so much for me but potentially for others down the road. Hope that research doesn't get cut.
I'm sorry you've had friends recur years later, and I remember when your bestie died. Such heartache for you, Susan.
Thank you for the good juju wishes and happy wishes about Luka. I'll be writing about him at some point. Sending you good wishes, too, for continued good health. Thank you for being part of this community and this conversation. I appreciate you, my friend.
Joining the pancreatic study at Mayo sounds so beneficial for others. My dad died from pancreatic cancer, and as we know because it’s so deadly, it needs so much more research.
On another note I am so impressed by the way you weave readers into your conversations. Your writing is always thought provoking and inspiring. I appreciate you too my friend!
Yes, I hope the research gets to move forward. I'm sorry you're all too familiar with pancreatic cancer. It's in my family tree, too.
Thank you for your kind comment about my attempts to weave readers into the conversations. That is exactly what I try to do with every essay I write. They aren't written for me so much anymore. I want to hear what dear readers like you have to say. Hugs to you, Susan. Thank you for being out there all these years!
Your pieces are so thought provoking and today's especially so. Maybe because you say, we've all been through difficult things. When I hear that, I think "but my difficult thing wasn't as bad as other people's, so I don't need to speak it." Talk about stuffing it in a drawer. First time public confession: I was raped when I was twenty-one. I didn't tell anyone, because I knew the guy. The term "date rape" had not yet entered the lexicon.
I'd been taken out to dinner by a cute, successful young man and I was smitten. After dinner, we went to his house for a drink -- such a grown up thing it felt like at twenty-one. And it was during the sipping of my adult cocktail, feeling on top of the world, that he pushed me back on the couch and pinned my hands down and went from cute guy to rough guy. It hurt. I said no. I was afraid and afterward, I tried my best to straighten my skirt and top and walk out the door. My panties were still on the floor, but I couldn't even stop to pick them up. I just wanted to get home. Home, where I did everything I shouldn't have - didn't report the crime, took the longest shower in the world, cried alone and vowed never to tell anyone.
A few days later, I went to Planned Parenthood, afraid that I might be pregnant. Too early to tell, of course. The kind doctor who examined me said she could tell that I'd been raped because I was torn. Yes, I still hurt. She tried to get me to talk about it, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. I felt like it was my fault. I carried what I thought was a shameful story most of my life and only in my mid-sixties did I review it, and cry for that young woman that was me. I tell my stories now without worry of shame or blame -- rape stories never leave us, a lot like cancer stories I imagine.
On that note, I thank you for opening the door and inviting us to share a difficult time, a difficult passage. Some passages just take longer than others as the center pointe still lingers nearby. Thank you for this and biggest of hugs.
Hi Stephanie,
Oh, dear friend, I'm so sorry to learn that this happened to you. It hurts my heart to think you endured such a horrendous thing. Add to that, the shame and self-blame you felt, it's heartbreaking. Thank you for sharing about it in such detail here. I'm honored that you did.
Bearing witness to the pain of others is so important to me and to this community. You never know who might read your words and feel seen and heard. Imagining the comfort and understanding you might bring to someone else who's been through this and reads your words, fills me with such gratitude for your bravery. I hope sharing here also heals you a bit more.
Sending you the biggest hugs right back. Thank you so much for sharing about this horrible trauma you went through and have had to live with all this years. I appreciate you.
It was over fifty years ago, but as you know some wounds you can always feel, even after they've healed over. I didn't realize how much I needed to just tell the story -- to get it out of me and to be met by the love and kindness of the women here. It was the first time I told the story in a setting like this, but this time I told it without the ringing of shame in my ears. Thank you for creating the space. I appreciate you right back. Maybe my words will help someone else as yours do. Big hugs.
Oh, Stephanie, it doesn't matter how long ago that horrible ordeal was. As you said some wounds you can always feel, even after they've healed over. Truth, that's what that is. I'm so glad you felt comfortable enough to share here -- to get it out -- and be met by love and kindness. I just know you are helping others by doing so. Big hugs back.
Oh Stephanie, my heart is just breaking for you, and I'm so sorry this happened. There are no words. All I can say is thank you for sharing your story. I'm in tears, and I am sending you hugs and love.
It's so awful. And so many women have suffered something similar. Thank you for being a witness for Stephanie, friend.
#MeToo. Thank you for sharing. I understand how difficult it is to talk about it. The shame is real. I’m not ready yet to open up, but greatly appreciate you telling your story.
Oh, Susan. I don't know what to think or say. If this has happened to you, too, I'm so sorry. Share if and when you feel ready. Hugs.
Oh Susan, I'm so saddened by this. You are certainly not alone, and I'm sending you love.
Sometimes I have to remind myself Susan, that it's not just my story, not just your story, it's the story and this, unfortunately is part of the story of woman. I link my arm through yours. You are never alone and you are not broken -- I said that for me, too. And to that end, sweet woman, #MeToo takes on a little different hue. With love and appreciation.
That is so true. What happens to one of us, in a sense happens to all of us. Women have been suffering from the trauma of rape for centuries. In a sense, when you share your story, you are helping us all bear witness to all those stories, too.
I’m so grateful for your comforting words. Yes as women, linking arms is a beautiful way to understand we are not broken or alone, by these circumstances. Your willingness to share what happened is so empowering. Thank you.
Not broken, Susan. Never alone. Hugs.
I had two lumpectomies two years ago, one on each breast. The left breast in which the larger tumor resided is now smaller than the right breast and also higher up. When I look down at my breasts I can see the nipple on my right breast, but not on my left. I have a friend who had a similar situation and had surgery to make her breasts match. That is beyond me, but to your point, I notice every day. The other noticing I do is my left breast collects lymph because the nodes under my left arm were removed so I have this Lump of lymph that I need to massage out of my breast every day. Will this ever go away? Probably not. My mother died of breast cancer at the age of 50. I miss her every day and particularly miss the fact that she never got to see her granddaughters. I’ve written a book of poetry to honor both her journey and mine, which will be released in June. I’m hoping to read from the book in the breast cancer recovery community.
I think the most important thing I can do is to recognize that each woman’s journey is different and and the impact of breast cancer varies, but no matter where you are, it helps to know you’re not alone.
Hi Christine,
Yes, I'm sure you notice those changes every single day. How could you not? And the lymph that you must massage out every day is a reminder, too. I'm sorry you've had to deal with all that.
And I'm so sorry about your mother. Dying at 50 is tragic. I'm sorry she didn't get to meet her granddaughters and just keep living her life. I miss my mother every day, too. Cancer is such a thief.
It's wonderful you've written a book of poetry. Keep me posted on that. And you're so right that we need to recognize every person's experience is different. Always helps knowing we're not alone. Just one reason to love this community.
Thank you for joining in on this conversation. I appreciate you.
I look forward to reading your book. So glad to have found you here.
Likewise!
I actually don’t think about cancer everyday; even though the scars are there. I also have stopped talking to my cancer meds when I take them each day; yes, I have done that in the past. Started this journey in 1989 with a mastectomy. I am and have been Stage 4 for quite awhile; right now it has been quiet for almost 2 years. Lucky for me I know if it gets noisy again my oncologist still has a few ideas.
My mantra for meditation is “I am at peace” and I try to move about that way.
Hi Chris,
You have been on this path for a long time. Talking to your cancer meds - I've never heard that one before! That gave me a chuckle.
Very glad you continue to do alright. Stage 4 is a tough road. I love your mantra.
Thank you for sharing about your trauma. You're an inspiration. I appreciate you.
Nancy, I don't think about cancer much these days. I haven't been to an oncologist for almost ten years. My PCP orders my annual mammograms and I'm good with that. Because I moved out-of-state, it made it easier for me to discontinue my oncology appointments.
I completely understand still thinking and stressing about it. It was a hugely traumatic experience for me and it took me a long time to process. There are no timetables and each of us has our own experience. I think the reason I don't think about it much is because the residuals, for me, were full-blown ME/CFS (chronic fatigue syndrome). So I live with that and it's become more of my focus, even though it's an extension of cancer treatment. Since its chronic, I've just gotten tired of being the sick person. I try to live my life as best I can, enjoying the people and things that I can.
Hi Eileen,
Wow, ten years! That's amazing, I'm happy for you and hope you never again have need for one.
I don't stress about cancer much these days. But think about it, oh yeah, for the reasons I mentioned. Plus, my mother's experience is always within easy recall reach. And just recently a sibling was diagnosed with cancer. I can't not think about cancer. Plus, there's the advocacy work that continues.
I'm sorry you've had to deal with chronic fatigue syndrome as a result of cancer treatment. That sucks. All any of us can do is try to live our best lives. As I wrote in EMERGING, that's the best and really only way to honor those who don't survive.
Thank you for reading and taking time to comment. I appreciate you, my friend. Stay well.
Nancy, I'm so sorry to hear your sibling has cancer. Here's a hug from me. And thank you for your continued advocacy. You have helped more people than you can imagine.
Eileen, I appreciate your kind words. And, yes, it's devastating news about my sibling. I won't be sharing much about that for privacy reasons. I feel and welcome that hug. Sending one back to you.
🫂🫂🫂
Hi Jorge,
Definitely not a gift. No. Nope. No way.
Nancy, these words are a powerful reminder that healing isn’t a linear path and it doesn’t have an expiration date. Fifteen years out and still reflecting, still processing – that’s real, and it’s okay. There’s a sense in our culture that we should "get over" things and move on swiftly, but life just isn't that simple. Your sharing is an encouragement to everyone to allow themselves the time and space to process, integrate, and, as you said, incorporate these experiences. Your journey gives permission to those of us still navigating the impact of past traumas. You’re showing us that we can be whole, even with the lingering echoes.
Hi Alex,
Yes, the integrating of trauma's impact is a life-long process. At least it is for me. Plus, cancer lurks in my family's DNA, so there's no escaping it. I don't necessarily think about my cancer experience every day, (once I'm dressed anyway, lol) but think about cancer, you bet I do.
Validating and giving permission to those still navigating the impact of past trauma (any kind) to take their time and do so in their own way is exactly why I keep talking about cancer and grief. It remains at the core of my advocacy.
Thank you for your kind and understanding words. I appreciate you.
Hi Nancy,
Like you, breast cancer was a huge trauma for me. How can it not be? Treatment was hell, compounded by the fact that my then-husband was draining all our finances. He also refused to go with me to treatments and told me on the day I was diagnosed that he was planning to leave me, and left me begging him to stay. How dehumanizing for me to go through all this on top of a cancer diagnosis! I had to work two jobs while having chemo and radiation simultaneously. People wonder how I did it. I had no choice and was in survival mode. After treatment, I kicked his ass to the curb and found that life eventually got better once I was divorced.
While I am glad I had the DIEP flap and all the life-saving treatments before this major surgery, I am reminded by cancer every single day. My radiated breast is smaller than the non-radiated one. I wish I didn't get the nipples (no, not TMI in my opinion) because the tattooed ones look nothing like my original ones.
I think your not wanting an appointment with your oncologist is wonderful. I wish I had the guts to do that at year 15. As you know, my oncologist retired, leaving me upset and rejected. But I've decided not to get another one at this time.
Thank you for encouraging all of us to share our hard. Because it's important to bear witness to our hurts.
Hi Beth,
Yes, cancer is a huge trauma, that's for sure. Your experience was doubly traumatic since you were also dealing with a marriage that was falling apart and eventually the divorce. It had to be such a difficult time in your life trying to just stay afloat, keep your job, get to treatments, deal with the side effects, and on and on. I'm sorry. Glad you kicked your x's ass to the curb, though.
Our bodies go through a lot. Reconstruction is exactly that. Reconstruction. We're grateful, of course, but we'll always miss our originals. Oh, and I did have reconstructed nipples, but they didn't last. Reabsorbed, or whatever the medical term is. Tattoos didn't last either. Ugh...
As I mentioned in reply to Susan's comment, my appointments just seemed somewhat pointless the last couple years. And I love my PCP, so I'm still in good hands. I didn't know you decided not to get a new oncologist. I know that has to be hard, too.
It's so important to share our stories, share our hard. As you said, it's important to bear witness. To our own hard, and to the hard others endure. Thank you for being here and adding to this conversation. I appreciate you.
My reconstructed nipples didn't last either; the tattoo color is gone, so sometimes I wonder why I didn't just say no to all the tattooing, which was ugly anyway.
Yes, I decided not to get a new oncologist. In a way, it is liberating; although he was excellent, the appointments stirred up my PTSD every single time. In another way, it's frightening. I really like my new PCP, and she hasn't recommended another oncologist. Some oncologists are assholes, so I feel a sense of peace right now not dealing with a new cancer doc.
"Cancer may not define me, but like it or not, it is part of “my definition” now." Yes, so true. What we have experienced does shape and shift us. It becomes part of our story, a part of who we are. And a part of the wisdom we have to share with those just beginning their journey. Well said. Thank you. ❤️
Hi Julie,
Yes, all our experiences get woven into the tapestry of our lives. All of our stories are unique, complex, and deeply personal. All the more reason to take them out of that drawer and share them.
Thank you for adding to this conversation. I appreciate you.
Come back and share a hard thing you've been through, if you care to, and when you feel ready.
Excellent piece. Difficult and true that we all have a story to share.
I resonate with the “so you don’t want it, are you sure?”
And the doubt in our instinctive knowing.
Bless your deep soulful lived experience and the remembrance that comes each time we look in the mirror of ourselves or another.
I just softly tumbled into yours. Thank you for the invitation.
🌹
Hi Prajna,
Thank you for your kind words and the validation they offer. I know you understand on a deep level that question you mentioned. Yes, there is story within each of us. Remembrance is part of the processing. Part of the integrating. Part of who we become.
I appreciate your presence in this space and the depth you bring to the conversations. I appreciate you.
I had a bilateral mastectomy with diep flap reconstruction 3 years ago. Yes, I think about it everyday, especially when showering. One plus for me is that I can wear almost any top without worrying about showing nipples. That is nice in case it gets chilly. I'm not going to bother getting tattoos. I have had enough needles to last forever. I wonder, is it OK to go topless on a beach? Just kidding!
Hi Adrienne,
I won't be getting tattoos again either. Did it once when I had implants. I'm so done with needles and such, too. As much as possible anyway.
Yeah, I hear you on the wearing what you want for tops. But it's not a good tradeoff. Nipple envy is real. And I guess it depends on what beach you're talking about! Ha.
Thank you for sharing. I appreciate you.
It resonates deeply to read your words, Nancy. Like you, the physical reminders are constant companions. My own scars tell a story of what was lost and what has changed. And for me the emotional scars, while less visible, are still the hardest part of this for me. Thank you for articulating so well that cancer is not a gift. It's a thief, an unwelcome intruder that leaves its mark in countless ways. Integrating this experience into our lives is a continuous process, and the work doesn't end when treatment does.
Hi Marie,
I know your emotional scars are so very painful. As I've said many times, breast cancer is a string of losses. Yet, at the same time, our hearts can hold so much gratitude, too. Thank you for letting me know this one resonated and for adding to this discussion. I appreciate you, friend.
Thank you for sharing your story. It really helps me to know I’m not alone. No, I didn’t have cancer, ok I did, but it was skin type and removed with margins, so I was fine. It was still and sometimes is still scary. But the trauma I am healing from now is a colin/intestinal surgery caused by an infection I had for almost a year. I went to multiple doctors and was given antibiotics for UTI’s I never really had. No one looked closer. Until they finally did and whoosh I was in an emergency room and on my way to wait for major surgery. The pain was difficult but the worst was not being able to lift or move or do yoga. The scar is large, and I see it everyday in the mirror. I’m beginning to not cringe at it but thank my body for its strength and stamina that kept me alive until I got the medical help I needed. I’m grateful to the surgeon and nurses who helped me. The biggest thing I’m finding out now is something no one talked to me about: emotional healing from the trauma. I’ve heard from others I’m not alone feeling this and it is a part of the recovery process. It’s good to know I’m not going crazy.
Hi Susan,
You are definitely not alone. Gosh, it sounds like you've been through an ordeal. Thank goodness someone finally did look closer and you got the attention and treatment you deserved and needed all along. I'm sorry you had to suffer through so much pain and that you were misdiagnosed.
I understand about the scars. Boy, do I. We can cringe a little and still feel tremendous gratitude and love for our bodies. You are so right that emotional healing matters a lot and is seldom properly addressed. Emotional healing is most definitely part of the recovery process.
One more thing, don't downplay your skin cancer experience either. All cancer is scary. And remember, you're not going crazy!
Thank you for sharing about your hard. I appreciate you.
I still think about cancer every day. It’s been almost 18 years since my local recurrence of breast cancer. My original oncologist left her practice after my primary treatment, so I see my new oncologist every year. I am grateful that I haven’t had to be in the trenches with her and I want to keep it that way.
But I know that er+ tends to recur later and unfortunately 2 of my friends in a bc group have gone mets 20 years later. and my chemo bestie (TNBC) died in 2012. I’m too chicken to stop going to the onc because there’s lots of different types of cancer on my late father’s side so that keeps me doing any surveillance possible.
But the choice you are making feels right for you and I am truly hoping and praying it stays dormant. And I appreciate that you are making space for everyone with local and metastatic disease. These choices have to be right sized for each individual patient.
Sending you lots of good juju and sweet times with Luka!
Hi Susan,
My original oncologist left years ago. I've had eight. I'm not a difficult patient either! A couple just didn't work out and one was a temporary. I like the one I have/had now as he's very knowledgable and really listens. We just don't do much at appointments anymore other than bloodwork and a minimal exam. Not that I'm complaining, I just don't see the point anymore. At the same time, it does make me a little nervous.
It's very understandable you feel more comfortable continuing to see yours. It's scary when cancer lurks in your family. As you know, it does in mine, too. I'm thinking about joining a pancreatic cancer study at Mayo in Rochester, MN as I'm at higher risk being brca2+. The benefit wouldn't so much for me but potentially for others down the road. Hope that research doesn't get cut.
I'm sorry you've had friends recur years later, and I remember when your bestie died. Such heartache for you, Susan.
Thank you for the good juju wishes and happy wishes about Luka. I'll be writing about him at some point. Sending you good wishes, too, for continued good health. Thank you for being part of this community and this conversation. I appreciate you, my friend.
Joining the pancreatic study at Mayo sounds so beneficial for others. My dad died from pancreatic cancer, and as we know because it’s so deadly, it needs so much more research.
On another note I am so impressed by the way you weave readers into your conversations. Your writing is always thought provoking and inspiring. I appreciate you too my friend!
Yes, I hope the research gets to move forward. I'm sorry you're all too familiar with pancreatic cancer. It's in my family tree, too.
Thank you for your kind comment about my attempts to weave readers into the conversations. That is exactly what I try to do with every essay I write. They aren't written for me so much anymore. I want to hear what dear readers like you have to say. Hugs to you, Susan. Thank you for being out there all these years!