I know that I am doing something right because when someone in my community gets a cancer diagnosis I get a text message, email, or a phone call. Someone’s sister, aunt, mom, cousin, friend, or lady down the street has any sort of cancer diagnosis and I am notified. And it is an honor. I always say the same thing, “Please feel free to share my information with them, phone number, email address, social media, website. They are welcome to get in contact with me in any way that they want and there is no price for the information that I offer.”
Those early days after a cancer diagnosis are scary. They are overwhelming and everyone wants to help.
I want to help.
And I know that it can feel like too much.
So I don’t reach out.
I let the person with the diagnosis take the lead.
Sometimes they reach out to me and sometimes they don’t. And whatever they decide to do is absolutely okay with me. I am here to support them in whatever way feels best for them.
The Overwhelming Early Days After a Cancer Diagnosis
When I think back to those first days after my own cancer diagnosis I remember the influx of well wishes and articles. So. Many. Articles. People wanted to feel like they were being helpful by sending me all the information they had ever seen on the internet about breast cancer. And I understand that the gesture was very kind, but to be honest, I didn’t read a single one. Not one of them.
I was so overwhelmed by what my doctors were telling me that I couldn’t focus on reading articles by random gurus on the internet that hadn’t been vetted in any way. And I couldn’t take one more person telling me to take a certain something that they swear would kill the cancer and I wouldn’t even have to go through chemo and radiation.
Boy do I wish that it had been that easy.
But I was looking down the barrel of a cancer diagnosis that was statistically stacked against me. Advanced and growing so rapidly that I didn’t have time to think, only time to act. I would have loved to take my time and look at more holistic options. I would have loved to do more research and understand the post-cancer side effects that I might have to deal with for the rest of my life. But when your doctor looks you right in the eyes and says, “If you break your hip, you don’t have time to heal from it, the cancer will kill you first.” You don’t have time to listen to talk about alternative medicine and herbs. Your whole life depends on whatever they tell you to do and you don’t talk back or ask a whole lot of questions.
Making Decisions During Cancer Treatment
I don’t regret a single choice that I made during my treatment.
When they talked to me about a mastectomy they gave me the option to keep one of my breasts. I opted to have both taken because it reduced my risk of recurrence significantly. Occasionally I think that maybe I would have liked having that other one for, shall we say, personal reasons (wink wink). But I wouldn’t risk my life for it. It just isn’t worth the cost.
When they told me that they would have to remove my ovaries because the estrogen blocker I would be on would increase my risk of ovarian cancer, I didn’t question it. Take them away. I don’t need them. I’ve had all the children I will ever have in this life and I am glad to have them gone.
As I was going through those early days of diagnosis I remember just making one decision after another. That’s all you can do. The information is coming at you so fast that all you can do is the next right thing. You don’t have time to overanalyze anything or dissect every piece of information. You have time to look at it, turn it over in your hand and go, “Yeah, that’s what we’re gonna do”.
And at the end of the day you have the decisions that you made when you were in the thick of it. I don’t regret any of the decisions that I made during that time because every single one of them led me to this life that I am still getting to live. People have their opinions online and share information with me about alternative approaches to treatment and if I have the bandwidth I will occasionally look them over.
Why Evidence-Based Cancer Support Matters to Me
Here is where I stand on the whole thing. I believe in scientifically backed, evidence-based treatment protocols and will always provide that information when I can. If you are looking for information outside of that, I am not the place for that.
And I am comfortable with that.
Because I know what it feels like to be the person on the other end of the conversation. The person whose entire life has just been turned upside down. The person who is trying to process information that they never imagined they would need to understand.
I know what it feels like to have everyone around you desperately wanting to help.
And I know what it feels like when all that help becomes another thing you have to manage.
Another article to read.
Another suggestion to consider.
Another person to reassure that you appreciate their concern, even when you don't have the energy to entertain what they're offering.
I don't want to be another person adding to that noise.
I want to be someone who can sit with you in the middle of it.
Someone who can tell you what my experience was without suggesting that yours will be the same.
Someone who can help you understand the questions you might want to ask your medical team, without pretending that I know more about your cancer than the people who are treating it.
Someone who can talk about movement and nutrition and the things that helped me feel a little more like myself during treatment, without pretending that any of those things were going to cure my cancer.
Because they weren't.
Chemotherapy treated my cancer. Surgery removed what it could. Radiation targeted the areas that needed additional treatment. And the medications I continue to take are part of the plan to keep this disease under control.
Movement helped me feel strong.
Nutrition helped me support my body.
Breathwork helped me manage some of the fear and discomfort.
And the people around me helped me remember that I was still a person, even when my entire life seemed to revolve around being a cancer patient.
All of those things mattered.
But they didn't all serve the same purpose.
And I think we do people a disservice when we blur those lines.
What I Can and Cannot Promise Someone Facing Cancer
I understand why people search for alternatives. I understand wanting to believe that there is something easier, something less painful, something that doesn't require surrendering pieces of your body or enduring months of treatment that leave you exhausted and wondering whether you'll ever feel like yourself again.
Believe me, I understand.
I would have loved an easier road.
But I also understand that when someone is facing a life-threatening illness, the information we share with them matters.
The words we choose matter.
And the promises we make matter.
I will never promise someone that if they eat a certain way, exercise enough, think positively, or take the right supplement, their cancer will go away.
I won't promise that they'll survive because I survived.
And I won't pretend to have answers that I don't have.
What I can offer is my experience, my education, my willingness to listen, and my commitment to sharing information that is grounded in evidence.
I can help someone navigate the space between what their medical team is asking of them and what it feels like to actually live through it.
And sometimes I can just be the person who understands why they don't want to read one more damn article.
Sometimes the Best Support Is Letting Someone Choose
I think back to those first days after my diagnosis and how desperately I needed the world to stop spinning long enough for me to catch up.
I didn't need everyone to have an answer.
I needed people who could tolerate the fact that there wasn't one.
People who could let me be scared without trying to talk me out of it.
People who could support the decisions I was making about my own body without making those decisions about themselves.
And that's the kind of person I want to be for someone else.
So when I get those messages telling me that someone in my community has received a cancer diagnosis, I feel honored.
Not because I have all the answers.
But because someone trusts me enough to believe that I might be able to help.
And if that person decides to reach out, I'll be here.
If they don't, that's okay too.
Because this isn't about me.
It's about them.
And sometimes the most helpful thing we can offer someone who has just had so much control taken away is the freedom to decide what kind of help they want.