(Breast Cancer Awareness Month — Please Read, Share, and Subscribe)
There are moments in life that split everything into “before” and “after.”
For me, hearing the word cancer was that moment. It didn’t come softly. It was a sucker punch to the chest. Everything I thought I knew about my body, my future, my plans — it all shifted in a single breath.
And from that moment on, nothing was ever simple again.
People love to tell cancer stories like neat little timelines. Diagnosis, treatment, remission, happily ever after. Tie a pink ribbon on it, throw some inspirational quotes around, and call it awareness. But that’s not my reality. My story isn’t neat. It’s not tidy. It’s not even remotely fair.
It’s messy. It’s raw. It’s painful. It’s beautiful. It’s mine.
Shock
The early days were a blur of appointments, scans, and unfamiliar medical words. I became a full-time patient overnight. Life as I knew it was ripped away and replaced with fluorescent lights, waiting rooms, needles, and questions that had no easy answers.
I smiled when people said “You’ve got this.” I nodded when they told me to stay positive. But inside, I was terrified. I wanted to scream, “I don’t got this. I didn’t sign up for this. I’m scared out of my mind.”
Fight
I showed up. Every single time. To chemo. To radiation. To surgery. To scans. I showed up when I was tired, when I was nauseous, when I was broken down to nothing.
I became a fighter not because I wanted to, but because I had no choice. You don’t get to opt out of this. You keep going because stopping isn’t an option. And even on the hardest days, when it felt like the fight was swallowing me whole, I kept showing up.
Isolation
People are loud at the beginning. They cheer. They wear the shirts. They bring food. They send texts. But cancer is a long game, and as the months turned into years, the noise got quieter.
The world moves on, even when your life hasn’t. People get back to their routines. Meanwhile, I’m still here — fighting, processing, surviving. The loneliness of that is hard to explain.
Sometimes, the silence is louder than the chemo machines ever were.
Resilience
But somehow, through all of that, I keep finding pieces of strength I didn’t know I had. It’s not loud, flashy strength. It’s quiet. It’s the strength to get out of bed on scan day. The strength to keep laughing with my family even when pain lingers beneath the surface. The strength to sit in the unknown and still find slivers of joy.
Resilience isn’t about pretending everything is okay. It’s about carrying both the fear and the hope in the same hand and refusing to let either one go.
Reality of Metastatic Disease
Metastatic cancer doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. It doesn’t politely stay in one place or wait for you to be ready. It spreads, uninvited, into every part of your life — your bones, your lungs, your brain. Every new scan feels like a betrayal. Every new doctor, every new treatment, every new symptom is a reminder that this fight doesn’t end.
Some days, I feel like my body is a battlefield I didn’t volunteer for. My arms are weak from chemo. My head spins with migraines. My vision blurs. My heart aches, not just from pain, but from fear — fear of what comes next, fear of leaving my loved ones too soon, fear of living in a body that’s slowly becoming a stranger.
I’m exhausted. I’m angry. I’m terrified. And I keep showing up anyway. Because giving up isn’t an option, and because even on the worst days, I want to live — really live — as fully as I can.
This is the side of cancer most people don’t see. The side that isn’t “inspirational.” The side that’s lonely, raw, and relentless. And it needs to be heard.
Legacy and Love
I think about what it means to be remembered. I think about the moments that define me — not the treatments, not the diagnoses, not the scans, but the love I gave and the truth I dared to speak.
I worry about time — how little of it we really have, how quickly it slips, how much gets wasted on trivial things while the world keeps moving, indifferent. I wonder if the people I love know how deeply I cherish them, or if they’ll feel my absence when I’m gone.
I want to leave something behind that matters. Not just memories of my illness, but of my courage to feel, my courage to speak, my courage to exist fully even when it’s brutal. I want my story to help someone who feels alone. I want my voice to reach the woman sitting in a hospital waiting room, shaking with fear, wondering if anyone truly understands. I want her to know: I see you. You are not invisible. You are not alone.
I want to be remembered for how I loved. For how I fought. For how I refused to let cancer define the entirety of me. For how I still found laughter between the tears. For how I told the truth, no matter how ugly or terrifying it was.
Because this is real life. This is cancer. And this is love.
🐾 Mojo’s POV
Hi, it’s me — Mojo.
I’ve been here through all of it. Every appointment day. Every 3 a.m. night when Mom couldn’t sleep. Every time she came home exhausted and still managed to smile when I greeted her at the door.
I don’t understand cancer. I don’t need to. I understand love. I understand that my job is to be right here, whether she’s laughing or crying.
I curl up against her heartbeat and remind her she’s not alone.
I guard the door, watch over her, and give her every ounce of my doggy heart.
And if you’re reading this, I have a little favor to ask:
Keep showing up. Keep reading. Keep sharing. Keep talking about the hard parts, not just the shiny ones. Mom’s story matters — not just for us, but for every person out there still fighting, still hoping, still living.
✨ Subscriber Note
This month, and every month, I want my story to reach beyond my own circle. Breast Cancer Awareness Month is about more than pink ribbons — it’s about truth, community, and action.
If my words resonate with you, if you believe in amplifying real voices, if you want to help make sure the whole story of breast cancer is heard — please consider subscribing to the blog. Your support helps this space stay alive, and it helps these words find the people who need them most.
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