A Break-up Letter to Cancer

Dear Cancer,

I thought I broke up with you in 2009. Wasn’t it obvious that I didn’t want a future with you in it? I let a toxic drip run through me each week for 26 weeks to chase you out of my life. Then I decided to take on another year of chemical infusions as a way to further armor myself against our previous relationships. I was never interested in a permanent relationship. It was so important to move on from you that I almost self-destructed during the effort.

If this chemical message wasn’t clear enough, then what about my six weeks of radiation? This decision seems like a straightforward, break-up signal. I burned, and nearly branded myself, to show you what I am capable of enduring to get rid of you.

Admittedly, I got you out of my body, but I can’t get you out of my head, although by no means will I give up trying.

We continue an estranged relationship. When you burrowed deep within, from some spun-out-of-control place, you attacked and shattered me with a Stage 3 diagnosis.

We went at it like boxers in the ring. You: tenacious, menacing and intimidating. Me: hoping, wishing, working hard to stay on my feet and survive. Many times I was battered with both visible and invisible scars. Seemingly unstoppable, you won some days. I, however, won more.

Let me be crystal clear, Dear Cancer, I made good use of our terrible time together. I redirected myself. You definitely “disabled” me with your dis-ease. You shouldn’t dismiss that you also enabled and empowered cancer-patient-me.

My unexpected outcome from my relationship with you was you healed my life. Yes-- I healed.

Even though you’re still in my head some days, you don’t live there permanently anymore. Your toxic grip over my mortality has lightened. Physical and mental scars have too.

While I fought for my life, I realized I was braver and more resilient than I ever imagined. This is how I got rid of threatening, annoying you.

Cancer and possible death were the top concerns I was most afraid of in my life before cancer. I can presently say I faced these. And, I did a good job.

I survived you. I survived the demons, myths, anxieties, fears, anger and helplessness that you bring when you visit. Your backhanded “gift” gave me compassion for myself. And compassion for others.

I continue to practice my healing. I witness so many brave others practicing their’s too.

I have used you to become a stronger, changed, refocused human. I am becoming better. My life story is so much more than “cancer patient.”

As with any dysfunctional relationship, not even the toughest bodies and spirits can erase the trauma and side affects of cancer treatments. You haunt me sometimes.

I have unhelpful voices in my head. I continue practicing how to live with “advanced breast cancer patient” on my medical record forever, yet not be so triggered. This is the baggage of our bad relationship; cancer patient in my medical history and a conversation about it with almost every doctor I meet. I can live with this. I can restory what this means.

Let me continue, Dear Cancer, and be clearer, your random, death-choke attempt on my safety in my body and in my life, my fragile fate, taught me and showed me amazing things. You did not take everything from me. Decent try though, I’ll give you THAT.

What you left behind helped me achieve something more useful. The parts you left behind are helping me help others with their problem relationship with you.

There are many other strong, resilient, people with cancer and people who had cancer who I have warned about you. They are bravely and patiently breaking-up and dismanteling their fear, anger and fragilness with you. They are healing. Healing is the most powerful medicine.

They are becoming better versions of themselves. We are a united force of hope and healing and possibility now. We confirmed that we can do hard things. When one person is healing, we all heal and this is a miraculous, united and beautiful wave of discovery and force for living with less control and more curiosity.

Farewell.