Journal entry by Nancy Young —
It’s April 26....my cancerversary. This is #4.
Fours years since I was diagnosed with HER2 positive breast cancer. This isn’t a time of celebration for me; it’s a time of reflection and remembrance. This date is significant because as I reflect on this date I am reminded of the 7 words that changed my life 4 years ago; they were, “Nancy, I’m afraid you have breast cancer”. It’s the day that my mind is bombarded with thoughts and memories of cancer treatment and surgery. Although I’m not one to live in the past, this day is different than all others. I’m pretty good at convincing myself I’ve processed all of the cancer memories and experiences but on this date some that are still begging for attention.
My coping mechanism has always been to power through a task I’m facing and move on. Example, lose your job, go find another one better than the last. But my coping mechanism wasn't working this time. I discovered I couldn’t power through cancer; but damn did I try. On April 26th, I’m reminded of all the poor decisions I made so I could stay in control of my life; like trying to work through chemo then having to concede defeat after the first round, like working through all 33 radiation treatments and scheduling my radiation at lunch time so as not to interfere with work. But the biggest of these memories is the one where I discovered my vulnerability. Being vulnerable was not something I was comfortable with and now I was facing it head-on. I remember a staff member telling me I should go home and get well and my reaction was, no way, I can handle this. I remember the embarrassment of my boss telling me things were slipping through he cracks and I thought he was being unkind and unreasonable. I remember conducting staff meetings and unable to remember who I assigned what and to whom. Looking back, my mind is filled with embarrassment that I didn’t respond better to these moments. In hind-sight, I can see how these experiences taught me that it's ok because that's what makes me human.
Fours years since I was diagnosed with HER2 positive breast cancer. This isn’t a time of celebration for me; it’s a time of reflection and remembrance. This date is significant because as I reflect on this date I am reminded of the 7 words that changed my life 4 years ago; they were, “Nancy, I’m afraid you have breast cancer”. It’s the day that my mind is bombarded with thoughts and memories of cancer treatment and surgery. Although I’m not one to live in the past, this day is different than all others. I’m pretty good at convincing myself I’ve processed all of the cancer memories and experiences but on this date some that are still begging for attention.
My coping mechanism has always been to power through a task I’m facing and move on. Example, lose your job, go find another one better than the last. But my coping mechanism wasn't working this time. I discovered I couldn’t power through cancer; but damn did I try. On April 26th, I’m reminded of all the poor decisions I made so I could stay in control of my life; like trying to work through chemo then having to concede defeat after the first round, like working through all 33 radiation treatments and scheduling my radiation at lunch time so as not to interfere with work. But the biggest of these memories is the one where I discovered my vulnerability. Being vulnerable was not something I was comfortable with and now I was facing it head-on. I remember a staff member telling me I should go home and get well and my reaction was, no way, I can handle this. I remember the embarrassment of my boss telling me things were slipping through he cracks and I thought he was being unkind and unreasonable. I remember conducting staff meetings and unable to remember who I assigned what and to whom. Looking back, my mind is filled with embarrassment that I didn’t respond better to these moments. In hind-sight, I can see how these experiences taught me that it's ok because that's what makes me human.
When I finally had my eureka moment and realized I needed to tap out, it was a tremendous relief. It was at this moment in time that this phrase was born, “I’m a strong person, but it’s exhausting trying to be strong”.
Cancer has caused a lot of upheaval in my life the last four years but I was surprised recently at my response to a comment a friend made to me at a high school classmate's funeral. He has no idea what impact his statement had on me but he said, "Nancy, you haven't changed one bit" (he meant since high school). It was Brian Forster, and I remember my response to him; I quickly said, "No way, I've changed a lot". And to that he said, "well your sense of humor is the same". It was another moment in my recovery where I'm reminded that cancer may've changed a lot in my life but it hasn't robbed me of who I am. And when Brian made that statement to me I found comfort in realizing that I'm still me; a better version of me but I'm still me.
Seven months ago, Jim and I moved from Kansas to The Villages, Florida to start the next chapter of our lives together. I now have all new cancer doctors and I've had to re-tell my cancer history to new friends and neighbors. Re-telling my cancer story has triggered only one anxiety attack so that's progress on the PTSD front. I've even started to mentor newly diagnosed breast cancer patients in my neighborhood. It feels really good to give back to the women fighting to survive like I did only four short years ago.
I want to thank someone, someone that's been a good friend and has been a tremendous support to me; Mark Kalstrup. Mark has been fighting his own cancer battle but he's always there for me to help me get through the down days of recovery. Thank you, my friend.
Much love to everyone and remember, life is short, eat the cake.
Nancy
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