Cancer and Luck

Recently I've been thinking a lot about the idea of 'luck' and, specifically, how it does or doesn't pertain to my life since my diagnosis of breast cancer at age 29. I believe that one of the first questions a cancer patient asks when they receive their diagnosis is, "Why did this happen to me?" I know I asked that question repeatedly for many months and on occasion I still ask it now. The monologue that I found myself giving to anyone who'd listen was principally focused on how this especially shouldn't have happened to me, and the lines I’d deliver all had a similar theme: I'm far too young and fit! I've always eaten very healthily! My family barely even has a history of cancer! I just couldn't wrap my head around what had happened to me, and it made it all the harder for me to be continually hearing the advice doled out regarding how to lower recurrence risk because such guidance always involved things I had been doing long before my diagnosis. To me, my diagnosis felt like a horribly unlucky thing to happen and I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who would agree with me. The awful thing about unluckiness is that there's not really much you can do to take back control.

A very short time after my diagnosis, when I was in the initial onslaught of treatment and terror, I was told by somebody I don't know all that well that I was incredibly lucky. They said this with complete sincerity, and although I'm sure they meant it with the best of intentions, it greatly upset me. I was really hurt that they could even think that—let alone say it—and that they didn't see me as the utter wretch I felt like. If I'm being honest, I wanted people to feel sorry for me and I'm not sure that there's anything wrong or abnormal about that: who doesn't desire compassion when they suddenly find themselves attempting to navigate their way through a very real and hideous Hell? I was faced with over a year of chemotherapy, multiple surgeries, the loss of my breasts and in reality, the loss of my entire life as I knew it. Conversations with my husband suddenly shifted from saving for a house deposit and starting a family, to how we'd afford to pay for treatments and preserve my future fertility. Obviously cancer is never a fair thing to happen, but this all did feel so very unfair.

I don't think I'll ever be someone who says that their cancer was a blessing—although I'm very pleased for people who are able to feel that way—but of late I do find that I can't stop telling people how lucky I am. Don't get me wrong, I don't in any way feel that I'm lucky to have had cancer but the more I carve my way through this journey, the more I'm forced to take stock of all the things I have to be thankful for. This was made all the more apparent to me when, a year into my treatment, I lost one of my dearest childhood friends to breast cancer. There are no words I could write that would do justice to the brilliance of my friend, but here are some anyway; my friend was fiercely smart and strikingly beautiful, she was never-endingly caring and loyal, and she had a laugh that put one in mind of a mischievous hyena. She leaves behind her husband and two gorgeous children who were her whole world. Those of us who loved her are grappling with the reality of her being gone; with her having done so well with her treatment and then suddenly having an incurable recurrence. The cruelness of it all smacks me in the gut and at times, makes it hard to breathe, but the thought I’m clinging onto is that my friend was one of the strongest people I’ve ever met and I feel I just have to do her justice in how I choose to face my own diagnosis. I have to honour the woman she was; the friend who let me live with her for a year in her tiny room in student halls because I didn't know what I was doing with my life, the person I could always count on to tell me when to man up (and still do so with love), the mother who when faced with the devastating news of her illness thought only of her family and how she could support them.

So you see, I am lucky. When I tell people that I feel lucky, I really and truly mean it. I am lucky that I've had the best treatment money can buy because my friends and family were so kind to support me through a Gofundme page. I'm lucky that I was able to make it through my chemotherapy and immunotherapy infusions without any delays or complications. I'm lucky that my husband works from home and took care of me 24/7 during the worst stages of my treatment. I'm lucky to have known a person as beautiful and loving as my friend. Most of all, I'm lucky to even be sat here typing these words, because I know in my heart that in this life nothing is promised, and nothing is certain.