Reflections on my seven year “cancerversary”
I still find it hard to believe that it is seven years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Yesterday, September 29, is the day that I traditionally date my “cancerversary” from – the day in 2004 that I had my surgery to remove the cancer from my body.
When I was in the middle of the interminable treatment phase, I couldn’t imagine that I would ever be seven years down the line, and that cancer would be a distant memory. And yet, of course, in many ways the memories are not distant, as here I am seven years later, still bearing the scars, still writing, still talking about the experience. For that’s the thing with cancer, even though your diagnosis, your time of active treatment, may be 7 years or 17 years in the past, the shock of that day you hear the words, “you have cancer” and the memory of those surreal days that follow never leaves you entirely.
A couple of months ago, I asked readers to finish the sentence “Having Cancer…” and the variety of responses, ranging from “it was the wake up call I needed to change my life” to “having cancer sucks” shows us just how varied our responses are to cancer. There is no one size fits all response to cancer. As many of us have written about (check out Coco’s guest post on the topic) we shouldn’t have to feel under pressure to join the cancer is a blessing camp, but equally, we should also be free to proclaim it, if indeed cancer did bring blessings into our lives. Often it is a mixture of both, as I know from my own experience and I have always encouraged a variety of viewpoints here. What I love most about the blogosphere is we can find our own place in it – if we feel angry, we can shout about it, if we feel sad, we can cry, if we feel afraid, we can ask for reassurance, if we feel happy, we can share our joy, for there is always someone somewhere in the world who gets how we feel, for they are feeling it too.
I believe that particularly the first cancerversary is an occasion worth celebrating for how far you have come in the past year. I would like to think that those who are in the thick of gruelling treatment can look to those of us who have come through it, and feel a sense of hope – I know that I looked to those survivors, when I was going through my own treatment and drew enormous courage and strength from them and could see a way through to the other side of cancer. But, when I look at myself now, seven years later, I can’t help thinking, that I have done nothing to deserve being cancer free – I haven’t followed any special diet, I still enjoy a glass of wine, I don’t exercise as much as I should, I still sweat the small stuff – and yet, here I am.
Since I started writing about cancerversaries, I have become more acutely aware of those for whom cancer is still a living reality. The person who has done the most to re-educate me to this is the wonderful Rachel of The Cancer Culture Chronicles, and because of her, I have become more cautious of using the term “cancer survivor” with its triumphalism undertones, and of celebrating something that I now believe is down to genes, luck or fate – call it what you will – for in the end, perhaps cancer, the getting of it, the living with it, the dying from it, is all one big turn of life’s giant lottery wheel.
(Note: Due to intense work commitments this week, I don’t have time to put together my usual Weekly Round-Up, but please feel free to leave a link below to the posts you have written this week and I look forward to catching up with them over the weekend).
It seems as though cancer can really define lives and so many people react so differently to it.
Obviously, cancer is so negative but yet, Marie, in a bizarre way (and maybe I am totally wrong here) it has also enriched your life, or perhaps I should say that your survival from cancer has enriched your life and the lives of those around you – those that you help with this blog but it has also shaped you into the person you are. Admittedly you would probably have been just as wonderful without the cancer :), but it will have shaped your caring personality. None of us know how differently we might have turned out if events in our lives had or hadn’t happened but we can only go with the cards we have been dealth and I think you are an inspiration to many as well as a continual source of help through your messages and words on this blog.
Lorna xx
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Aw thanks Lorna, and just think, if I hadn’t started blogging, I may never have met you!
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I remember you saying that our landmark days were very close, and seeing your post today speaks very clearly to me. The way you describe that cancer diagnosis being quite unlike anything else, and the fact that it doesn’t “fade” but it certainly changes everything afterwards. My cancerversary is on Sunday, marking the day when I heard the “this is highly suspicious of cancer” words. For me that is when it all shifted. I feel a deep sadness today for some reason, and mixed with that is the feeling of ingratitude, after all I am still alive and until the next tests (next month) living with NED so why am I not more upbeat today?
Thanks for your beautiful honest post, and for expressing the fact that this indeed a lottery for which we get a ticket every week whether we like it or not.
P
xx
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See Philippa, we are not alone – thanks for getting it! And thanks for adding your powerful comments too, which really resonate with how I am feeling x
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This is a powerful piece of writing – thank you for your honesty and for giving voice to the variety of responses to cancer.
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Your post today moved me very deeply Marie, as it echoes so much of what I feel about cancer being a lottery and my own sense of survivors guilt
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As someone “in the thick of” my own cancer treatment, I take great heart from seeing those of you who have survived the rigours of chemo, surgery, etc and have come out the other side. You are a beacon of hope to those of us still in it.
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Hi, Marie,
It’s wonderful that you’ve reached your 7th anniversary – I can fully understand your assertion that it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been in recovery, each anniversary is important, and the event itself feels like only yesterday – I celebrate a recovery anniversary myself, though not cancer, so get what you’re saying.
I’ve learned a lot from reading your blog – many thanks.
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Hi Maire, I really appreciate your comment – thank you x
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Each anniversary is important, and I’m so glad you’ve called attention to yours! I met a woman yesterday while picking up my packet for the Race for the Cure tomorrow. She was volunteering and when she handed me my survivor packet, she asked how long it’s been. When I told her just over 1 year, she smiled like she’d won the lottery and said 24 years for her. I do hope she celebrates each one. Your blog always lifts me up and makes me think, and for that I thank you. Happy cancer-versery!
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Ah thank you Nancy – what a great story..and suddenly I’m in the mood for celebrating 🙂
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Marie, thanks for fessing up that you still sweat the small stuff. I have not changed on that one either, and I feel guilty that I haven’t been able to more consistently be a nice person who doesn’t get upset since cancer. Those who say it was a wake up call that made them much better, happier, stronger—more power to them. I wonder though … even though it does awaken all of us at some level, how many people really are able to be all that much better people most of the time? Wish the good that came from cancer had that much power for me. I think I catch myself more often when I’m not who I want to be, but always fall back again.
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What a great comment Rachel – thanks so much for sharing your thoughts with us
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Marie, Thank you for expressing here what so many of us feel. I feel like my cancer experience really started with my mom’s diagnosis. Still, I was totally unprepared for my diagnosis. Like you said, when you hear those words, “you have cancer,” everything changes and that experience never entirely leaves you.
Congrats on reaching the seven year mark! Thank you for your caring spirit and your willingness to include everyone’s viewpoint. I think those are two of the things I adire most about you.
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Nancy, I am so deeply touched by your continuing support – do you know that you and Jan never miss a post to comment on – I am not so diligent to my shame – but your commitment to not just commenting, but also in adding value to the conversation is one of the things I most admire about YOU!
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Hi Marie, I agree with so much of your post. Especially feeling as if I haven’t done anything to deserve this “freedom” from the everyday cancer fight that so many of our friends in this community are facing. Maybe it’s survivor guilt, but I don’t like to use the word, survivor. I think it is, as you say, just our genes, luck or fate. It can’t be explained no matter how much we wish it could be.
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Thanks for your comment Stacey and it seems like so many of us are on the same wave length today x
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Marie, congratulations on your seventh year “cancerversary.” I celebrated my two-year mark last February and, like you, found it to be an emotional day. So much has changed, and yet I am still me – still sweating the small stuff, while trying to do better. As always, thank you for your honesty and perspective.
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And thank you Debbie for continuing to share your own wonderful perspective so honestly too in Where We Go Now.
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Marie,
What a great piece. All viewpoints are valid, I agree. We should all be allowed to feel how we need to, want to about cancer. Cancer, at least for me, brought a cornucopia of feelings and emotions and it still does today even though I am 2 1/2 years out from being diagnosed. I guess I see things through a different lens right now (especially given that I am in pain every day). I know that my pain causes me to react to things differently. And, like you . . . I do still sweat the small stuff. As much as the diagnosis of cancer changed me, I am still me and still going to work too much, worry about too much etc.
I am also not comfortable with the word “survivor”, especially when I know that at any point that status could be ripped away simply by the unluck of the draw.
Thank you for getting that. And thank you for sharing such an insightful post. I wonder if you have any idea how many people you help by what you do? You have helped me so much.
I am so glad that you are celebrating your 7 year mark, so glad that you are writing and bringing a voice to so many of our feelings and emotions. You validate us all.
Have a wonderful weekend!
Lisa
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Lisa, I feel so humbled by your comment and the raw honesty with which you are willing to express your own experience – thank you xxx
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Marie, 7 years… that is quite a milestone! An amazing one, worth celebrating. So much of what gets us to these milestones is out of our control. Just like there is no “cure” for cancer, we know there is no “cure” for living after a cancer diagnosis.
There’s a certain spiritual quality to a “cancerversary.” We all do what we can when we find out we have cancer: We gather a good medical team around us, we have the surgeries, we alter our diets, we take the drugs, we exercise more frequently, we try and calm our minds — but the rest is really up to luck and fate and the stars. It’s all rather mystical.
Marie, I wish for you many, many more mystical celebrations! I wish that for all of us!
Sunday marks my 1-year anniversary of “the mammogram that changed my life.” I need to carve out 5 minutes to reflect on that.
-Renn
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Marie I think this is a an amazing bit of writing. I think you have really captured how there is no “right” way to experience this heinous disease, and yet there are so many ways via our wonderful blogosphere. There really is a place for everyone and thank you for reminding me of that in mentioning my blog in such a personal way. All my love to you. xxx
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Oh Rachel, you have no idea how influential you have been in my life online over the past year. I think about you all the time – although I may not be so vocal about – you are always in my thoughts xxxx
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Hurray for you Marie! None of us ever imagined getting out the gate and it is so imspiring to hear stories like these.
Enjoy a great weekend!
Lauren
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🙂
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Marie,
I was diagnosed in August of 2004, a month before you were, but I couldn’t tell you what the exact date was, and I like it like that. It’s not an anniversary I celebrate.
My whole life I’ve been the girl who did everything right, exercise, diet, alcohol, yet I still got breast cancer. I now know it was due to the BRCA2 gene. After breast cancer, I cranked up the healthy lifestyle knob even higher, if that was possible, but after James died…
I like your analogy about the lottery wheel. Perhaps that’s how I’m thinking about recurrence these days. If it returns, it returns, however, I do know that if James were still here, I’d be doing everything I could to make sure we grew old together.
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Thank you for sharing the wisdom you’ve gained in these past 7 years. Sharing stories and leaning on each other for experience is a powerful thing. Your blog is inspiring and it’s clear you’ve made a big impact on so many lives. Looking forward to learning more about your story and how it unfolds.
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I truly appreciate your support – thank you so very much x
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Congratulations on reaching your seven-year mark! You’ve made a tremendous difference in the lives of many people, including mine. You’ll never know what an impact you have had on this community. Your readership is extensive because the depth of your writing is immensive. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, and keep up the good work!
XOXO,
Jan
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Oh Jan, thank you so much for your continuing support and kindness to me xxx
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Love this! Thank you for sharing your experience and reminding us that we are all different and our experience with this disease is different. Thank you for continuing to provide a community for us to share our stories. Because isn’t that what we are all looking for? A place to connect, to belong, and to shed the armour we sometimes carry around with us in our “offline” lives. I love the lessons I continue to learn from you and the other members of the JBBC Community. I will raise a (big) glass of wine to you and your cancerversary tonight. T xo
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Terri you are amazing! I feel blessed that I have been able to learn from you over this past year. Thank YOU!
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Marie, after I was diagnosed (getting on for five years now) I met a woman who had been diagnosed and treated many years before me who was extremely supportive in my first year. She said, “I am always walking with someone.” I understand now, we all walk together in some way following diagnosis, however things work out for us. Which, I am now coming to think, is a lottery actually. I’m here because I’m lucky.
Love to you, Sarah
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Some of you talk about survivor guilt, or that how things work out is typically not all our doing, nor does how it works out for us make us better than or inferior to anyone else … so true.
And about the word “survivor” – we are all survivors for as long as we are here. And even if that word no longer describes our “status” we are not lesser, just less fortunate. I was in an on-line support community last week and a woman with metastatic cancer was upset that the word survivor has become so used – don’t remember her exact words, but that she was metastatic it seems made her feel more sensitive to that word. Another metastatic woman responded by posting the origin of this whole “survivor” thing, and the intention of the doctor with cancer when he coined “survivor.” Through all my rambling, the point I want to make is, the word is meant to help us stay positive and hopeful while we are here, for as long as we are here. Sometimes it comes off like it’s a fight and you are a winner or loser. Don’t think that’s what this guy meant. And reading so many survivors comments, including here, I think most of us see that we are all the same, whether we get cured or not ….
Seasons of Survival: Reflections of a Physician with Cancer
Fitzhugh Mullan, M.D.
N Engl J Med 1985; 313:270-273July 25, 1985
When I was given a diagnosis of cancer, my first thought was not, Will I die? but rather, How can I beat this? Like a youngster who flunks a big test, I immediately began to worry about what to do to pass the course. I was 32 years old at the time, a physician, a husband, a parent, and a son. I had been healthy, athletic, and free of pain, but with the diagnosis, I became formally sick. My mind and my hopes riveted immediately on the goal of cure. Cure. The word itself became magic for me, a . . .
Fitzhugh Mullan, M.D. Health and Environment Department State of New Mexico Santa Fe, NM 87503
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Happy 7th year! Such a beautifully written piece, Marie. I love this line, “…even though your diagnosis, your time of active treatment, may be 7 years or 17 years in the past, the shock of that day you hear the words, ‘you have cancer’ and the memory of those surreal days that follow never leaves you entirely.”
I couldn’t said it better myself; these words ring so true.
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Marie, I’m glad you are still here. And I think your post points up how much the ‘blame-game’ is still too often a burden that gets put on all of our shoulders, which is such an utterly pointless exercise. Because ultimately, cancer is a capricious, unpredictable beast and our understanding of it is still inadequate.
Cancer happens. And we just don’t know why. Yet. But as long as we’re still here, we can demand more answers.
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Thank you for your compassionate and insightful comment Kathi x
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