Lauren, United States

There are no words to describe the moment you hear the news about your initial diagnosis. When the ER doctor told me I had a 15 cm tumor above my heart with fluid filling my chest and lungs, I lost my breath. I had left my house thinking it would be a quick stop to urgent care, but before I knew it, I was being transported to the nearest cancer facility an hour and a half away at 9:00pm, leaving my daughter and husband at home. That was the first of many future challenges I would face during my treatment. My biggest challenge though: being a present mom to my 2-year-old.

Often during treatment, people say “if you gave birth, you can do this,” and I would laugh, because giving birth had nothing on navigating cancer as a mom. Everyday you pray to the universe to be able to live to see your baby grow up. You go through every treatment and scan with continued hope that everything is progressing, because there is nothing you can have but hope. Hope that it will all work out, hope that you will heal, hope that you will see your baby grow into adulthood. 

Not only does the stress of mortality loom over cancer patients, the exhaustion, irritation, and overall lousiness become motifs in one's life. I cried when my daughter was scared to come near me at the hospital, I cried on days that I couldn’t lift my daughter, I cried at night thinking about missing the pumpkin patch with her because I had to be quarantined. But I was also granted paid leave during this time. So although there were moments I missed, there were so many more I was able to experience because of my extra time at home. 

What I didn’t expect during this time though was how large my village expanded. I had my nuclear support group that never left my side but I also had old friends turn back into new friends. I received packages, cards, and special thoughts from across the country. My five person chemo team at my hospital also became part of my village. The encouragement, the laughter, and the wise words of advice helped me continue on with my days, but they also gave me the time to grieve this new life, the isolation, and the fear that cancer creates. 

Throughout my journey though, the ups and downs, the wins and losses, I learned one of the most important lessons: it is not my time that is important, it’s good timing that’s important. Cancer is never an experience I would wish for again, but it was a time that taught me to slow down, trust the process, cherish the moments, and to be okay not being in control. I am grateful to be in a spot of remission though and I am grateful for the new found life I have created post-cancer.