I couldn’t see the door in the exam room, which was L-shaped. I could only hear a knock, and then, her words: “I’m sorry, it’s breast cancer,” the surgeon said. I did not see it coming. After 20 years as a cancer survivor, I was a cancer patient. Again.
[See: What Not to Say to a Breast Cancer Patient.]
Like most everyone else who has been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, the news upended my life. It shattered what I understood to be my role in my family, among my community of friends and colleagues, and in my work as a health advocate.
It also affected my marriage. Jonathan and I married when I was 51 years old in 2009, 16 years after my first diagnosis of non-Hodgkin lymphoma. At the time, we were both accomplished professionally and committed to making our marriage a partnership on all levels. As we promised in our vows, we would be co-adventurers. We cooked together for the people we loved, traveled widely and read and learned and discovered. But that life was threatened when I was diagnosed with breast cancer just four and a half years after saying “I do.”
At first, I used denial as a coping mechanism — pretending that I had never heard those words, living my life and maintaining our relationship as if nothing had changed. But after my mastectomy, I had to depend on Jonathan rather than act as an equal partner in our relationship. I needed help for everything — from lifting shopping bags to showering to driving to cooking. While I had gotten somewhat better at asking for help during my first diagnosis, those skills were dusty. However irrational, I felt like I had let Jonathan down — I was supposed to be a partner in all aspects of our life, and then I got cancer again.
My second cancer diagnosis changed my relationship with my mom, too. Once again, we reversed roles — when I was first diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma at age 35, both of us were too young to be facing cancer; the second time around, she was 80 years old and should have been retired, not doing endless loads of laundry and dishes for her sick daughter. But she stayed by my side throughout my surgery and recovery, even moving in and taking care of me when Jonathan went back to work.
[See: 10 Ways to Prepare for Surgery.]
Even my stepdaughter, Isabelle — a 17-year-old who was in the midst of applying for college and envisioning a life beyond home and high school at the time — wasn’t immune from the impact of my second diagnosis. My mastectomy brought her focus back home. While I was in the hospital, Isabelle enlisted some friends to help her clean, paint and redecorate our home office. She picked a beautiful, calming color and created a book-filled, quiet room where I could work and think. Every day, when I was healing from surgery, she came home from school, got into bed with me and held my hand as we binge-watched mysteries on TV. As I got better and stronger, she transitioned back into her own priorities: school and social life.
One of the most difficult aspects of having cancer in my mid-30s and then again in my mid-50s was the loss of my identity and place in life. While my vantage point was very different each time, the feelings of being off-balance and unsure where I belonged were the same. Eventually, I had to accept that shifting roles were a necessary part of my relationships and my healing — at least temporarily so I could recover. I learned that allowing my loved ones to step up and help me was an important way for them to cope with my diagnosis.
[See: 14 Ways Caregivers Can Care for Themselves.]
Looking back, that second diagnosis really blindsided me. But with healing time, loving support and the perspective that comes with prior experience, I found my way.
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Facing Cancer Again: How a Second Diagnosis Affected My Relationships originally appeared on usnews.com
