Dear Cancer,
Happy anniversary. Today is a special day between us. After months and months of you trying to take over my body. After months of you impeding me from walking, breathing, eating, sleeping, and living. Today is the day that throughout all odds…I won. Today is the day that I heard, “The cancer is gone” Today is the day I realized that my dedication and determination to fighting for my life was worth it. Today is the day I realized my life was worth it and that I am worth it. And you taught me all of that, and for that I thank you. Without you, I wouldn’t appreciate the little things. How the cold crisp air tingles my nose, how the warm sun toasts the tips of my hair, how the colors of nature are so vibrant and full of life. I wouldn’t appreciate what it was like to live. Because without you, my life would have always been a period and not a question mark. You brought a lot of new punctuation into my life. Instead of making everything a matter of fact, my life is now a continuous question. You brought a lot of uncertainty into my life. You made me and the doctors question my life, my ability to live, and my ability to bring another life into this world. You made me question my happiness, my friendships and who I am as a person. You made me question me. You have taught me compassion and the ability to step inside someone else’s shoes. You have opened my eyes to a world full of hope, love and strength. Thank you for teaching me how to live life on the edge. Thank you for helping me find my true purpose and meaning in life. Thank you for helping me find me. You taught me lessons of acceptance and spontaneity. You have taught me that life throws you curve balls and you need to learn how to catch them. Because at the end of the day, each ball that is thrown at you is a gift some way or another and it is our job to realize what that gift is. For me, cancer was a gift of life. Strange as it sounds, cancer gave me life. Cancer made me fight for my life. It opened my eyes to the life I am living and how special it really is. As one of my friends has said to me, before cancer, I kept waiting for the perfect moment and now I try to make every moment perfect. Cancer showed me that life is too short to keep looking forward when we really should be looking at where we are now, the present. I hope you can take today to reflect on where you are in your life. If you have found your purpose and what makes you spark. Reflect on you, are you content with your life or wanting more? Find what you need in life and go after it. Go after your life, fight for your life. I was reflecting about my life and journey with cancer. I asked myself if I would I have changed what had happened to me? Would I have taken back my diagnosis? And because of you, cancer, I can proudly say no. I do not want to take back our journey together. I thank you for all of it. I thank you for each lesson you have taught me. Because without you, I would not be the person I am today. So cheers to our life spent together. Thank you for it all. But most importantly cheers to me, one year cancer free.
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I had the honor sharing my story at JMU's Relay for Life at their luminaria ceremony. You can watch my speech and read along below.
https://youtu.be/tg6JuwhgyMQ Two years ago I was at my first relay for life at jmu. I was sitting on hillside field like all of you are now but I felt hesitant of why I was there because I had no connection to cancer. 72,000 young adults are diagnosed with cancer every year..there was no way I was going to be one of them. Fast forward to October of my sophomore year. The gym became engraved into my daily routine. I was addicted to the runner's high I would get on the treadmill looking out at the mountains. One day that all was taken away from me. Each step on the treadmill took every ounce of my energy out of me. I felt like I was running in slow motion, sweat started to drip down my face as my body was uncontrollably coughing. Something so freeing, so easy, was taken out of my grasp and I had nothing I could do about it. Throughout the months of October and November I began to watch my body deteriorate. I went from running a mile to not being able to walk up the stairs. Being able to walk around campus became so difficult, each step radiated throughout my body, taking all my energy and leaving me with nothing. I ended up having to get police escorts to class. I would wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. I lost my appetite and I lost 20 pounds. I remember looking in the mirror and saying “wow I look great” but I felt awful. Over thanksgiving break I spent most of my time at the doctors office. My primary care doctor referred me to a hematologist, a blood cancer doctor. I remember him looking at me straight in my eyes “yes. This is a cancer office, but don’t worry you do not have cancer” After reviewing my blood counts, the cancer doctor smiled and said “Ah yes, this is a simple fix. You are just iron deficient anemic. We will give you two iron infusions and you should be on your way.” I remember feeling so hopeful. They finally knew what is wrong with me. I was going to be ok. I even posted a picture saying “Here’s to a happy healthy 2018”, little did I know what was 2018 was going to bring. Mid January I started feeling worse. I felt so dissociated with my body, like I was watching myself from a different part of the room. I was losing myself and I didn’t know why. February rolls around and the cancer doctor said my blood counts were stable and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with me. So I went to a primary care up in Harrisonburg. After looking at my charts and hearing my symptoms she looked horrified. I remember looking at her as I wiped a tear from my face. “do I have cancer?” February 19 2018 I’m rushed to a hospital in Washington D.C. I felt limp, I could barely breathe. I was so weak that my brother had to hold my sandwich and feed me. I was a 19 year old girl and I couldn’t even feed myself. The next day I woke up from my biopsy surgery. The doctors came wearing white lab coats into the hospital room. I was sitting limp in my chair. I felt nothing. The doctors began talking, I saw their lips moving but couldn’t hear a word. What are they saying? On February 20 2018 I heard the word that brings us all together tonight. Cancer. On February 20 2018 I was diagnosed with Stage 3B Hodgkin's Lymphoma, a blood cancer. I was 19. Every 3 seconds someone gets diagnosed with a blood cancer, in that second I was one of them. My cancer spread from my neck all the way to my pelvis. Tumor masses larger than one-third of my chest size pressed against my chest and the large artery of my heart. The cancer was growing inside of me for at least four months and no one knew. Three days later They brought me and my family into a dark room and pulled out a large packet of informational papers. Words filled the pages with side effects of all the medicines I was going to take if I wanted to survive. After they told me about my treatment plan the only question that I asked was “Am I going to lose my hair” I valued my appearance more than my life. 5 cycles of chemotherapy and 14 rounds of proton radiation Chemotherapy took myself from me. I had to sit back and watch as it sucked the life out of my body like I was disintegrating into thin air. At times I didn’t know who I was anymore. I felt like an alien inside of my body, looking at my reflection and wondering where 19-year-old Lena went and if she was coming back. All I felt was medication taking over my body and my breath holding the tears back from falling across my face. What was happening to me? How can I make this stop? I couldn’t. I had no choice Cancer made me feel isolated. I had to withdraw from JMU and watch as my friends were enjoying “the best years of their life”. When I was experiencing the worst months of mine. Instead of running on the treadmill and looking out at mountains I was stuck in a hospital bed staring at four blank walls being hooked up to IV’s pumping my veins with poison. How did I get here? Cancer made me feel numb. Radiation made me feel like a manican on an assembly line. They made me lay down on a metal table and layed a hot sheet of plastic across my face as I gasped for my breath. I felt like I was being captured, kidnapped, suffocated. I felt like nothing. On July 25 2018 I ran the victory bell.The sound of the victory bell still resonates in my ears as I speak with all of you. It brought the sound of hope, the sound of freedom, and the sound of returning to normalcy. It showed me that my treatment was finally over, this nightmare of cancer was finally finished. I can still feel the tears of joy that rushed down my face when I realized I was free from the chemo, free from the radiation, free from the cancer. I was finally free. Or at Least I thought. Life after cancer was more difficult than I imagined. I found myself questioning my every move. Each step I took I felt like I was giving myself cancer again. I felt like I was causing it to grow again inside me. I felt helpless, like at any moment my cancer would come back again and I would relive the hell that I just lived. I thought after I rang the bell my life would go back to normal. I thought people would look at me the same as they did before I had cancer. My battle became such a huge part of my life, something I grew to view as an accomplishment. I beat cancer but people kept looking at me like a victim and not like the warrior that I thought I was. My peers became hesitant and even scared to talk to me. I noticed their eyes shift when I mentioned my cancer. Conversations that were once so stable, engaging, and full of life suddenly disintegrated into silence. Why was my accomplishment suddenly turning into a loss? I wish when I told people I am a cancer survivor, they congratulated me for my fight rather than apologized for my battle. As terrifying and raw my story is...I’m still me. I’m still the same person they were just engaged in conversation with a couple minutes ago. I wish people viewed my diagnosis as something I overcame, not something I became. I began my fight valuing my appearance over my life. To fighting for my life, proudly without any hair. Cancer taught me that hair did not define me. Losing my hair was one of the most traumatic yet empowering experiences I had throughout my fight. I learned that the amount of hair I had on my head does not define my beauty. Cancer showed me that bald is beautiful and I did not need anything to cover up what I already was. Cancer helped me appreciate the little things. Being able to walk without holding on to my mom. Being able to taste food without the chemo numbing my taste buds. Being able to breathe. Being able to live. Cancer showed me how special the life we all are living is right now. The feeling of fresh air on your skin, the grace of the sun on a warm spring day. How each inhale and exhale is something we should cherish. Take a look around the field. Right now you are surrounding by beautiful, genuine, caring people. You have came to support something so dark such as cancer and have brought so much life to it. You have brought your life. You have brought your spark. You have brought you. I hope after my speech you take a moment to reflect on why you are here. I hope you can set an intention for your time spent and reflect on the impact you are making. Just 50 dollars donated to the American Cancer Society provided a stay for me and my mom at their Hope lodge in Baltimore Maryland while I was receiving radiation treatment for three weeks. Without people like you who are fueling donations towards cancer research and support, I would not be standing in front of you right now. A year ago today I had cancer. Chemotherapy was pumping through my veins as I fought against the nausea, fatigue, and the disease that was taking over my body and started to take over my life. A week from tomorrow on April 13 2019, I will be one year cancer free. I am so honored to share my story with you all tonight. Your life is such a gift. Don’t wait for the perfect moment try to make every moment perfect Thank you "Are you ever not happy?"
"You are always so energetic and enthusiastic" I hear these comments daily. Affirmations from others of my positive, happy, bubbly personality and view of the world flood my conversations. I notice myself acting engaged, excited and eager in every social circumstance when minutes earlier I was fighting back tears. I feel disassociated from who I am inside and who I am perceived to be. At camp they call me Bubbles but I feel like the suds on the bottom of the sink. Washed out, drained and exhausted from the trauma I have faced. Flashbacks of repressed experiences are starting to come to the surface. One second I'm at the gym and the next I'm in the hospital. Wires are attached to every part of me. I'm limp, weak and discouraged. I see the hair that covers my pillow. I watch each piece of hair leave my head as I watch the cancer take over my life. My feelings of helplessness, numbness, heartache and struggle are resurfacing. I am healthy but I feel sick inside. Throughout my treatment I pushed traumatic experiences down the drain. I pushed each experience down as far as it could. This week the drain of my memories started to overflow and each memory began to resurface. Each experienced slowly crept up to the surface again when I least expected it. Flashbacks of me screaming and crying from the immense pain I endured. Numbness and defeat as I sat in silence for days on end. I am starting to feel it all again. Visions fill my head of events that I don’t even remember happening. Did they happen or is my imagination taking the wheel of my brain and steering me into my worst nightmare? I'm having trouble deciphering between reality and my imagination. |