After You Hear, "It's Cancer"

Peach Ribbon/Uterine Cancer

by Carol Fragale Brill

It’s been fifty years since my dad died from brain cancer when I was twelve. My rational self knows that over those fifty years, there have been countless advances in cancer treatment—that today, having cancer is not the six-months-to-live death sentence it was when he was diagnosed, and many kinds of cancer are completely curable.

And yet.

After a recent abnormal Pap smear and biopsy, when my doctor said, “It’s cancer,” my rational self went AWOL, and my first terrified thought was, “is this how I’m going to die?”

Fortunately, Jim was with me to reinforce all the positive things the doctor said about catching it early because I take care of myself, get regular physicals and Pap tests, and that this type of cancer is typically curable.

After a few more hours of dark thoughts, a fragile acceptance started to sink in. Amazingly, Jim and I both slept better that night than we had for several days. Having an idea of what we were up against was actually better than the fretful days and sleepless nights of imagining the worst.

We’re in another cycle of waiting now as my surgery gets scheduled, and then we'll wait again for tissue and lymph node biopsy results. I hold on to the assurances from friends, who are cancer survivors, that waiting is the hardest part and that it gets easier once you know the treatment plan.

At some point that first night, I had a brief attack of uncertainty about what I was supposed to do next—put my life on hold, cancel everything on my calendar? Jim and I talked and decided I should do exactly what I would have done before my diagnosis. So the next day, I got up and took a bike ride, showed up for my consulting gig, and spent the late afternoon with Jim reading on the beach.

I knew I’d made the right decision about continuing to “do” my life when a friend who is a breast cancer survivor shared a piece of advice that someone had shared with her: Give cancer every bit of time necessary—and not a minute more.

I wish I could say that those first hours after hearing it's cancer were the only time I melted-down. The truth is dark thoughts lurk just below the surface and pop up at some point almost every day. Sometimes it’s a fleeting thought like when I admire a sundress in a shop window and then wonder if I buy it, will I have a chance to wear it. Or, when I reach for placemats, and instead of the everyday ones, I take out the “good ones” asking myself what am I saving them for?

Most days, I can shake those thoughts off pretty quickly. Sporadically, grief hijacks my thoughts and I wallow in self-pity and project about what-ifs. But even on those days, when I put my day in balance, so far, the fear and sadness are always outweighed by hope.

At first, I wanted to hide my fears to protect my family and friends from feeling afraid too. Then a friend sent me a card that says: Cancer is tough but you’re tougher. I realized I can put my feelings out there and trust that my family and friends and readers are tougher than cancer, too.