I experienced a diagnosis of cancer and went through cancer surgery and treatments. I live an altered life of certain innocence lost in facing my own mortality. I have experienced a family member being diagnosed with cancer. I have sat and waited through treatments, said prayers in fearing the possible loss of someone I loved deeply that I could not imagine life without — holding my breath each time they went in for surgery, treatment or a follow-up visit worrying the outcome might not be in our favor. Prayed more, making deals with an unseen God.
If I had to measure, which is worse, being diagnosed with cancer or having a loved one diagnosed with cancer, I would say having a loved one diagnosed with cancer is more difficult. After my cancer diagnosis, I became actively involved in my cancer treatments and cancer survivorship. I researched, and then made informed choices for treatment and embarked with confidence and resolve on a journey of healing. Even though I was facing a disease of out-of-control cell growth, I felt a measured amount of control. I knew how I felt each day.
When someone you love is diagnosed with cancer, you can never gain a feeling of control. You sit, you watch, you stay close — you listen to their tone of voice, watch body movements, look at mood for clues — but you cannot know how they are feeling. Do they feel stronger or weaker today? Are thoughts and feelings of exhaustion in battling cancer taking a toll? Is the cancer winning? And you pray more and more.
The first year after my breast cancer diagnosis, I signed up to take part in a benefit walk to raise money for breast cancer. My husband was right by my side, as he had been from the very beginning. The day he got his race day t-shirt he put it right on, and I believe he was more determined to be at the benefit to raise money to find a cure for breast cancer than me.
During the walk, someone started talking about surviving cancer for the woman diagnosed with breast cancer, and about the efforts made to support a breast cancer survivor. Very quietly, as my husband stood next to me, he whispered, “I am a cancer survivor too.” He wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t asking for anything. I think it was one of those moments when people talk out loud before they have a chance to edit themselves.
But it revealed something he was feeling, and it broke my heart to think he felt left behind somehow. Cancer had touched his life and altered the innocence of his knowing the people he loves might not be there forever.
And in many ways, although we acknowledge the family members and friends of cancer survivors for all they go through after someone they love is diagnosed with cancer, perhaps as a cancer community, we do not do enough. Trust me, family members and friends won’t ask for anything or ever complain about anything. Normal life is gone. They fear being visible might take away some benefit in overcoming cancer and make the cancer for their loved one worse.
After that day, I sat down and wrote this in my diary:
“I am the one with cancer, I know the fears, I know the fight. I am fully engaged in the battle.
But to be you, who loves me, who feels you can do nothing more than watch; do nothing more than hold my hand as you hold your breath; do nothing more than whisper prayers and petitions to the intelligence of this universe for mercy and grace — it is you that has more courage and strength and hope than I who wields the sword against the disease of misdirected creativity.
It is your love, your courage, your strength, your expansive hope and unending prayer that nourishes my spirit, that strengthens my determined will, that inspires my reach for tomorrow, that vanquishes the adversary as no sword and warrior can alone.”
I know. I have been both diagnosed with cancer and the family member of a loved one diagnosed with cancer. Both are surviving cancer, both are equally cancer survivors.
