I was 32 years old when I was diagnosed with a rare form of breast cancer. Exactly half the age my paternal aunt was when she was diagnosed with the same cancer. My fiance and I had just moved to New York from Los Angeles only weeks prior.
The boxes weren’t fully unpacked in our new apartment when one night, while laying in bed, I felt a lump. A few weeks (and many doctor appointments, scans and tests) later, I heard the words, “you have cancer”. And once I heard those words, thoughts like, “how much is it going to hurt” and “how much is it going to cost” were fleeting but the thought that came early and never left was, “will i survive?”.
When you are forced to look your own mortality square in the eye, you see the world in a totally different way from that moment forward. You pose different questions; you seek different answers.
I think back to the days leading up to my diagnosis – the terrifying hours between “We’d like to do a biopsy” and “We have some unfortunate news”. Hindsight is a beautiful thing because looking back, I have an overwhelming sense of awareness. You will never hear me say that I was “grateful” for anything about cancer. But in those moments, I was never more connected to, in-step with, or acutely aware of my body for protecting me. For bringing to my attention something that wasn’t quite right and instilling in me the confidence and persistence to talk to my doctor. And ultimately, for preparing me for the fight of my life. With this awareness came a strong understanding of empowered advocacy, not just in the halls of Congress – but empowering myself and others to advocate for our health, to ask the challenging questions and to seek the myriad answers. I am so proud of the strength my body and mind have armed me with. And I will continue to call on that strength on future pages of my story, I am sure.
And luck – 2019 was our luckiest year to date.
Let me be clear. ‘Lucky’ does not mean easy. 2019 pushed, pulled, and rolled me into a version of myself I didn’t know I could be. In 2019, I felt scared, in over my head, and heartbroken. I felt pain, anguish, helplessness, and exhaustion. 2019 was the year I stopped feeling immortal.
But with the harrowing came the heartwarming. I was never as joyful as when I saw my husband’s face waiting for me at the end of an aisle. I was never as surprised as when lifelong friends and family took a last-minute red eye flight to stand by my side as I married the love of my life. I was never as comforted as when I met new friends through the breast cancer community who knew exactly what I was growing through (yes, growing). I was never as powerful as when I rang the bell after finishing my last round of radiation. In truth, I was never as alive as I was in 2019.
At the start of that year, I wished for strength, love, resilience, and kindness. And girl, I got it all in spades…and then some. So yes, 2019 was our luckiest year to date. We’ll save 2020’s lessons for another essay.