Ten Things I Hate to Admit about Cancer

This week was a milestone - my 10th Cancerversary, a term some use to reference the anniversary of either diagnosis (my case), or the end of active treatment. I felt called to resurrect my blog, begin writing again, and set in motion a plan to write my first book. While there have been many constants, my perspective on cancer has changed in many ways since those early months when everything was a big, black hole. What does reflecting on a decade of living post-cancer reveal? Here are ten things I hate to admit about cancer:

1. Chemo was worth it

While active treatment was no walk in the park, I navigated the initial chemo bombs far better than the post-rads fallout years. My aggressive treatment plan brought late side effects (heard of late-COVID? similar), many of which remain to this day. I remember being connected with a breast cancer survivor when I was preparing to return to work. Impatient and overwhelmed by brain fog and the inability to remember common words or to multi-task, I asked her, "how long before all of this lifts and I can function normally?" There was a sympathetic silence from her, and then she told me that she was 7 years out and hadn't returned to "normal" yet. 

Now I understand her silence. Not a day goes by where I don't curse the way those nasty drugs impacted my quality of life, but more importantly, not a day goes by that I ever regret taking them - those little A-holes saved my life.

2. Kale was never the answer.

Despite hopping on the kale train early and visiting virtually every stop along the tracks (this Creamy Curried Kale and Chickpeas is a warm hug in a bowl!), kale was not the answer to survivorship. Neither was going full Monica on any other superfood, exercise regime, bedtime tea, months-long abstention from red wine, or breakup with white sugar (though I stand firmly by that last one). The answer instead, was moderation. I recall a very animated peer support debate about dietary choices post-cancer, where the topic of cutting out "risky" foods we loved came up. Someone heckled, "Just eat the damn cheese!" and it has become my mantra ever since. I had to agree; if cutting out something that made you so happy was causing that much stress, was it even worth it? Bruh, it's just fromage!

3. Young women with breast cancer are boss ass bitches!

If you've watched Ted Lasso you'll know this is a compliment. In my quest to 'not go this alone', I stumbled upon an incredible group of young(ish) women with breast cancer who, like me, were looking for a place to fit in in a system designed to support elderly patients. We bonded through our unique, shared experience; many of us were diagnosed during or shortly after pregnancy, while dating, newly married, or just starting our professional careers. We formed a young breast cancer network we named "OMG" (ottawamonthlygatherings.ca), because it reflected our spirit - humorous, candid and real as they come (refer to cheese heckler in previous paragraph). Since that time, our group has flourished, ebbed and flowed, attracting and too often, grieving the loss of members, all the while lifting each other up as we had once been lifted ourselves. These determined and action-oriented women built a young breast cancer community and have inspired the creation of other local networks across Canada. None of this would have been possible were it not for *stupid cancer*. You'd better BELIEVE it.

4. It wasn't "just" hair

I used to feel ungrateful - truly petty and vain - for mourning the loss of my thick tresses. Others around me were dealing with cancer recurrences or loss of loved ones to disease. Who was I to complain? Only now do I understand that I was entitled to grieve this very real loss. While for many it was their breasts, for me it was my hair that was tied to my femininity, my self-esteem and my identity. My lovely locks brought so much style, confidence and grace to me, and were the one feature I admired most about my appearance. When it was gone, and worse, when it grew back differently - thin, curly, lifeless and lighter in colour, it stranded me in Bummersville, population me. What I learned from this was that (1) hair grows back but doesn't grow back the same, (2) eyebrows are important, and (3) my goodness I am saving a fortune on shampoo.

5. Cancer primed me for the pandemic

This one's very interesting and I guess was a silver lining of sorts. Being immunocompromised made me an expert at handwashing, avoiding crowds, staying home when ill, keeping my kids home when they were ill, telling my staff and coworkers to go home when they were ill, and ensuring my vaccinations were up to date. It also gave me compassion for and insight into the lives of people with illnesses, both visible and invisible. We are all in this together, and we can help each other. This has been both a valuable lesson and a beautiful gift. 

6. The fear of recurrence never really went away

Knowing that cancerous cells had invaded so many of my lymph nodes, putting me at high risk of recurrence, is something that was forever on my mind. That 30-40% of young women diagnosed with early stage breast cancer will experience metastatic disease, for which there is no cure, is a sobering reality, and seeing too many friends go this route really drove that message home. I used to believe that this particular fear would eventually take a back seat in my life. For me, it didn't, but it did relinquish the driver's seat, and agree to instead ride shotgun. I can roll with that, but I get to choose the music.

7. Returning to work nearly did me in, but was the only way to move forward

I've written about my challenges and apprehension in returning to work. What I can say in hindsight is that as brutally hard as it was, it was the most effective way to fire my neurons and train my brain to function again. Like many others, in the end I chose to walk away from a high-stress management position towards something more in line with my new pace: snail's! As my brain processes auditory information with a few seconds' delay, participating in meetings and conversations presented a real challenge. I eventually found my voice, learned to interrupt and ask questions, and set in place tools and practices to support my new reality, both in and out of the workplace. 

What exactly did these changes look like? I advocated for a reduced work schedule and a role with more flexibility and fewer tight deadlines, which set me up for success. I was working from home two days a week for years prior to the pandemic. Communicating my limitations and my required accommodations, while hard at first, became second nature, and is something I still do to this day. I've tried to pass this message on to others with invisible disabilities, as it was a game-changer for me in terms of my self-esteem, performance, and ultimately, my mental health. Now I advocate for the well-being of my colleagues through my work as a member of our larger Wellness Committee, and through my daily interactions about keeping it real. Wellness and family first, work second. 

8. Everything the doctors said about exercise was right...

...so...awkward. I desperately wanted the jury to be wrong here. Like really really wrong. Turns out that exercise really was the key to reducing the side effects of treatment. My single biggest regret post-treatment was not starting daily exercise sooner. I wish I'd had concrete tips back then on how to get started when I literally had no energy (treatment fatigue), time (young kids) or motivation (depression) to roll out of bed, much less exercise. So how did I find the time and motivation to tackle this as a working, single mother of three? It was a three-step program. Ok, there was no actual plan, it just played out like this:

I talked about my fitness goals...a LOT. I told everyone who would listen how I really wanted to start exercising, and I asked detailed questions about what was out there and what was working and not working for them. This led me to a friend who was doing home workouts using a free fitness app called FitOn. I checked it out and was immediately hooked. Why? Because this app offered virtually every workout type imaginable, and allowed me to develop my own program based on my interests, personal goals, pace and available time. 

The second step was figuring out what kind of exercise was so much fun that it made me want to do it a second time. In the beginning, I was brave and tried Barre Fit, something that had piqued my curiosity so much that I'd originally looked into group classes in the neighbourhood. The clear benefit with this app was that I didn't have to leave home (in the middle of a pandemic, no less), and could test drive this workout style at zero cost. I also chose familiar, low-intensity workouts like stretching and gentle yoga, then dove into Pilates, my new BFF. With some newfound confidence in me, I eventually found myself foraying into more intimidating workouts, like strength training with weights (two sets!) and HIIT (high intensity interval training). This is where the shitake got real and I started to see and feel results, in my energy levels, sleep quality, and mental health. 

The last step was all about managing my own expectations, specifically, setting the bar low, ridiculously low! This app enabled me to have total control over how much or how little I exercised each week. I started with very short (5-7 min) workouts, which I did the minute the kids went to bed (Tip: put your workout clothes on before you tuck them in). I gradually increased the length of my workouts to 10, then 20+ minutes, and in doing so eventually shifted them to the early morning so I could go to bed on time. This schedule overhaul was a massive accomplishment for a lifelong night owl, but it was remarkably easy to do once I had my exercise routine in place. Now you're asking, how did a night owl find time to work out in the morning? This, dear readers, is the subject of my next post, where I'll share how I succeeded in finding time where there was no time to be found.

My a-ha moment? It wasn't finally meeting Morten (still on my list). Nor was it that the sun always shines on TV (it really does, stupid glare). It was that taking control of my physical fitness was life-changing, just like the doctors said it would be... *sigh*. 

9. All of my relationships changed

New friends lit up my life, old friendships were rekindled, and the steady coals of my family burned longer and stronger. People surprised me with their selfless acts, making fire from flint. Some relationships flickered, while others sparked up for a while, then were soon extinguished. Through all of the tumultuous times I fanned the flames of my social connections as I took on my biggest frenemy, my failing body. My relationship with myself changed too, and this was perhaps the most remarkable change of all, as it led me to realize...

9. I had the power to change things all along

I'm not talking about curing cancer, ending poverty or turning back time. I'm talking about the things I actually had the power to change - my relationships, my job and even my own health. How I perceived each of these things was within my control, and I've come to realize this week that all it takes to enact change is for me to release myself from the confines of my own thoughts, and grant myself permission to see things in a different light. 

While it's important to recognize that our lived experiences shape our perceptions, we ultimately make a choice to see things in a certain way. Turning off that light, or switching out the bulb for a new variety, is such a simple and impactful way to achieve a whole new look to the room. But where is the motivation if it's out of arm's reach and giving off decent light anyway? I mean, why bother? Well anyone who's ever replaced a cool white bulb with a warm white one will get it. The transformation is remarkable. Seriously, warm white bulbs people, do it now.

Some final thoughts before I close the chapter on this post...

I've learned that there was never meant to be a return trip from this journey. Much like Google Maps when you miss your turn, your body automatically recalculates to get you where you need to go. But it is never as easy or direct as your original route, and you will definitely cross new territory. This is how I try to operate now. Constantly navigating an ever-changing map and reprogramming my coordinates. It's frustrating and tiring at first, but gets easier with practice and is totally doable as long as you are open to accepting change. I fought this for a long while and followed many dead end roads that took me off the map. But sometimes you'll luck out and find a shortcut. 

My advice to anyone facing cancer, or adversity of any kind, is to treat yourself as if you were a tourist in a new city. Take time to settle in and get your bearings. Don't be afraid to ask for help if you get lost. Adjust course as often as you need to, and most importantly, be patient as you wind through unfamiliar neighbourhoods. You will eventually get where you are meant to go, but you probably won't know you're there until the moment you arrive. 

My road brought me to this day, this place, and this view, and it looks pretty great from where I'm standing.