Tears

The summer of 2009 marked 15 years since I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease. I believed at that point there were no major problems from the cancer. I have to take a thyroid medication, but that isn't all that uncommon, and I have a few scars from surgery.

I had had a bone spur removed from my right hip in 2007, but I thought that had more to do with a family history of arthritis. The problem was I never really recovered from that minor surgery. In fact, I seemed to get worse, and both hips began bothering me.

I limped along for two more years wondering what in the world was going on. I saw the chiropractor weekly. She was wonderful, but she was stumped as to why I was having so much trouble particularly with my muscles staying intensely tight all the time. My regular doctor gave my pain pills. And the orthopedic doctor prescribed physical therapy. None of this made me feel any better. By the time I finished teaching my first year of school, I had frequent episodes where my right leg would catch in searing pain and I couldn't move it forward or backward until the spasm passed. My ever- and over-protective mother suggested we go to the Mayo clinic in Jacksonville, Florida, for more testing since we had no real answers from any of the doctors we'd seen here. Being utterly opposed to seeing new doctors, it was a hard decision to make. However, I called and scheduled an appointment for the end of July.

The Mayo clinic is AWESOME. If you are ever in need of diagnosis or treatment, go there. After an initial appointment, the doctors quickly diagnosed my problem with three simple x-rays, which by the way, no one had done at home. I had to have both my hips replaced. Both hips were so deteriorated that one doctor suggested if I didn't have my hips replaced right away I could be in a wheelchair in less than a year. And worst of all (at least to me) the probable reason for the hip deterioration was a particular medicine I took during my chemotherapy. After 15 years, that stupid monster had crept back into my life.

I never truly knew what it meant to be hysterical. However, as I tried to fall asleep that night in the hotel, the thoughts of having diseased bones in my body, giant scars on both legs, cancer stealing my bones, fear of being sick, the unfairness of it all overwhelmed me. At first the tears slowly leaked from my eyes. Before long, the tears were streaming out full force. The sobs were coming so quickly I choked again and again. I couldn't get enough breath to form the screams I wanted to release from my body. I couldn't logically process anything. I just wanted to escape from it all, but there was no way to escape from my own broken body. I can't tell you how long this went on. I know it went on long enough for my mom to transform from sweet and comforting to a drill sergeant demanding that I get a hold of myself. Finally, I went to sleep. I woke up with sore muscles the next day, evidence of the stress I had put on my body.

As broken as I was that day, God took care of me. He moved things so that I was able to see the orthopedic surgeon a week later. Then He arranged things so that there was a cancellation that allowed me to have my first hip replacement by the end of August instead of mid-October. That made it possible for me to be recovered in time to take a teaching job at Elberta Middle School by October 1. Then He changed the schedule again so that I could have my other hip replacement May 24. This worked well because I missed the boring teacher work days at the end of school. And now I have two strong hips to move me forward.

Where I was broken, I am healed. With Thanksgiving less than a week away, I realize how thankful I am for all that has happened and the way it happened to bring me to the point I'm at now. Looking and walking forward without cancer and without pain.

Rambling Reflections

A few weeks ago I had a big break through when I was able to tell my cancer story to a lady who was worried about her son being diagnosed with Hodgin's disease. I'm very happy to report that he did not have any time of cancer, and that what he did have can be treated easily. I'm very relieved for her, and I'm still proud of myself for speaking up. I know it helped ease her mind as she awaited his diagnosis.

I've spoken at several Relay for Life events about my experience with cancer. I think I've said before that I was very guarded about what I said and that I didn't want to talk to anyone about it afterwards. I also hate walking in the cancer survivors lap. Declaring my survivorship is not something I'm good at. However, I believe there has to be something that I'm suppose to do with this.

I distinctly remember riding in the car with my parents after my diagnosis. We were driving on Fort Morgan Road, and we had been debating about whether I should stay out of school for a year to do treatment and finish a year later. I really couldn't even consider that option. I told my mom and dad that I was going to be an example. I was going to go to school and be drum major. People were going to look at me and know that cancer wasn't an end. I considered myself very strong back then. There wasn't anything I couldn't do.

To look back on that person who was so confident is scary. Somewhere along the way I lost that, and I miss that person. I still have faith in my abilities, but I don't have the faith that someone will notice them. I'm at a crossroads. I feel so strongly that having cancer meant something. I have to believe that it was a preparation for even greater things, but I'm not hearing the message of what those things are. Once upon a time I thought I could make a difference by working for the American Cancer Society. Although it was a fantastic experience, it wasn't the right fit. Even volunteering for the American Cancer Society didn't feel right. I just don't know. It is so hard to want to make a difference but feeling blinded about how. Any ideas???

Today's Big Victory

Today was a victorious day for me!

I went to a training in Loxley, and I was one of the first to arrive. I didn't know anyone else attending the training so I took a seat near the front of the room and hoped someone nice would sit next to me. Soon after a kind-looking lady sat down. We introduced ourselves and made small talk. During the course of our conversatoin she mentioned that she had to call a doctor about her son's blood work. Her 17-year-old son has enlarged lymph nodes in his abdomen, and he has been experiencing a lot of pain. I looked at her and asked if she thought it might be Hodgkin's disease. I brought it up all by myself!!! She said that was a major possibility. So I did it. I told her am a Hodgkin's survivor. She said something like, "you are normal." Then she said that God had brought us together to reassure her. I felt moved to comfort her so I proceeded to tell her how I was diagnosed when I was 17, completed my senior year in high school, and was even drum major in the band. I was honest about having to have my hips replaced because of chemo, but for the most part, I wanted to share how normal my post-cancer life has been. I tried to reassure her that even if her son has Hodgkin's that he can experience many normal teenage things and grow into a truly happy adult. I even gave her my number and told her to call me. Most importantly, I never felt afraid or embarrassed to say any of those things to her. It is the first time in my life that I have talked face-to-face with someone about cancer without feelings of shame and discomfort. This was a big day for me.

My new friend had not received her son's results by the time we left, but she promised to let me know. I hope whatever his condition is that it is easily treated. Regardless of what his diagnosis ultimately is, he helped me in my own battle with myself, and I'm thankful for that.

Shutting down the evil voices

Last Wednesday I started feeling an acute pain in my upper back. By Thursday the pain was so sharp I couldn't breathe deeply. Every logical cell in my brain screamed that it was just a misaligned rib that would be fine with a quick trip to the chiropractor. However, the illogical cells started a rumor in my head that it was breast cancer.

I know that due to the location of treatment during radiation in 1995 that I have an increased risk of developing breast cancer. This increase is not so tremendous that getting breast cancer is imminent; however, I have spent many years trying to shut down the little voice in my head that says, "It's coming. It's coming." When I was around 30, I was totally convinced I would develop breast cancer by age 48. Having an actual age in my head almost destroyed everything I enjoyed. I consider it a victory that I only have thoughts of it every once in awhile, and I'm usually very capable of shushing that voice quickly.

After all these years, I still get jumpy when something isn't right. When I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease, I did not feel sick so my body and I don't have a very trusting relationship. It failed to warn me once, and I don't want to risk it again. When I do feel sick, particularly sore throats, I tend to freak out more than most people. I hate having swollen glands because that's what I thought the tumor in my neck was.

At any rate, my fabulous chiropractor poked my rib back in place. The soreness is subsiding, and I feel confident I'm ok. I've once again defeated the evil voice in my head.

Boys

For as long as I can remember I had the idea in my head that I would not get married until my late 20s, and therefore I was never in a serious relationship. However when I was in my late 20s, I dated the nicest guy for quite awhile. He was really sweet and fun, and although some of my friends disagreed, I thought he was handsome. We usually had a great time together even if we did nothing. Our relationship was just easy. It was like hiding away from the pressures of the "real world." With all that said, I never really planned to marry him even if his mother was ready to start making plans after about a year.

We had been dating about 4 months when I had my yearly cancer check-up. Even though I had been cancer-free over 10 years, I had a habit of spending a week or two before the big day making decisions on what I would do if I found out I had cancer again. Needless to say, I was not pleasant to be around prior to the visits. It may be hard to imagine, but I hadn't told my boyfriend about having cancer, and I didn't tell him about my appointment. I distinctly remember sitting in the waiting room at South Baldwin Hospital all by myself. As I sat there worrying about what my blood test and x-rays would show, it became more and more apparent that it would never be fair to bring someone in on that kind of life. I distinctly remembering a real sense of sadness that it wouldn't be right to allow someone to love me when my life might be cut short. I've never forgotten the feeling that I have a duty to protect people from me. Although my results were fine and my doctor told me not to worry about anymore yearly exams until I was 40, I never told my boyfriend about having cancer or the decision I made to protect people from loving me. I also felt a little twinge of guilt for the rest of our relationship that I was hiding these things. I justified it all by thinking that his mom knew my aunt and he was a friend of my cousin so he probably knew anyway.

Telling someone I had cancer when I was a teenager doesn't easily work its way into a conversation so I never brought it up with any of the guys I dated. That little twinge of guilt of not telling was always there. However, I enjoyed dating and being normal so much that I didn't want to risk losing that by spilling the beans.

Finally it all came out last year with a guy. He was fun, smart, outgoing, handsome, just fantastic in general. We hadn't been on many dates when he asked me about the two scars I have on my neck and near my collarbone. I panicked. I didn't want to stop things before they got started by telling him about the surgeries during my cancer treatment. I don't remember if I totally ignored the question or said something stupid about a knife fight (my usual answer that shuts people up quick), but I know I never mentioned cancer.

A few months later I saw a TV show about relationships and one of the key topics was sharing uncomfortable things from your past. The show advised getting things out in the open early. I decided that I had to talk about having cancer with this guy. I did not feel comfortable bringing it up, but I was committed to being honest if he gave me an opening. He gave me that opening a few weeks later when he asked again about how I got my scars. I was mortified, but I told him I had cancer when I was a teenager. He seemed to take it well, and even mentioned that could be a possible reason for the leg problems I was having. (He was right. I had to have both my hips replaced within a year of that conversation due to the long-term effects of chemo). I felt somewhat relieved that I had the courage to say it and he didn't freak out.

He dumped me the next week. He gave some cop-out reason that left me with no satisfaction. But what made it really hard on me was that I had trusted him with my secret, and it hadn't mattered. I'm sure he had no idea what a big deal it was for me to tell him that I had cancer. I had given him no reason to understand this. However, I felt, and sometimes still feel, like he stole this from me. Even though I still talk to him occasionally and have gone to dinner with him a few times since then, a tiny part of me thinks of him as the jerk who stole my cancer.

I say all this because I am stopping this pattern now. I had cancer. It's a part of my history, and it contributed to making me the fabulous person I am today. Up until now, I have given it more importance in my life than it deserves. I have let that one year overshadow the almost 33 other years of excitement, achievements, and joy. I will never again hide my cancer from anyone who is lucky enough to date me. Cancer survivor is only a fraction of who I am, and I don't need to protect anyone from me because of it.

Is it a lie if you say nothing at all?

Last year at my school there was an incident where one student told another he had drugs to share with him. A third student overheard the conversation and told his teacher. The two students who were in on the drugs were sent to the office, counseled, and punished. The student who told on the classmates told me later that he told the teacher immediately. Then the boy asked me if I was proud of him. I looked at his face that was so desperately seeking my approval. I told him I was very proud of him, and I meant it. By all means, he did the right thing by speaking up. Although the "drugs" were some type of spice like oregano, this child was very brave to notify his teacher of a potentially dangerous situation.

For years I have not had the bravery of this young boy. I have kept the fact that I had cancer a secret to as many people as possible. In some situations it made no difference. There is no need for my name to become Margaret Jayne I Had Cancer Bemis. However, there are many other situations where it is more than appropriate to speak up.

Two years after I graduated from college, I landed a job as a Special Events Manager for the American Cancer Society. My job would entail managing four fundraising events where the money would go for research, education, advocacy, and services in the fight against cancer. In this job cancer survivors were revered. I, along with my co-workers, worked very hard to incorporate cancer survivors as volunteers. They were the best ambassadors in our fight. However, in the year I worked for ACS, I only told three of my co-workers that I had cancer, and I asked them not to mention it to anyone else. I told one because when I was hired I had to fill out a form that listed any possible medical issues, and she had to send the form to the division headquarters. The other two learned I had cancer at a division training. I don't remember the circumstances, but I remember the horrible feeling of having more people find out.

While not telling my co-workers that I was a cancer survivor doesn't bother me much, I am bothered by the fact that I never shared this with my volunteers. Many of them, especially those who were also survivors, deserved to know. Those who were battling cancer when while volunteering with me could have been strengthened by knowing that I had won the same battle. I had a volunteer who was fighting breast cancer. She was a young woman, probably in her 30s. She was so discouraged by losing her hair and having her skin break out. I had faced those same things and had come out better. I could have shared my story with her. By holding my secret so tightly, I stole from her piece of mind that things could get better. I should have done things better. I should have accepted this part of me and used it to benefit others.

I can't change that now. I can't even say the times I've spoken about my cancer experience when I was a volunteer made up for not being truthful with people. Even when I've spoke, I've very carefully chosen what I would say. I've never shared the feelings of fear or shame. I've flat out lied about having hope and courage. I believe surviving cancer can bring out the best and the worst of people. While fighting cancer brought out the best in me, surviving cancer has been a battle against the worst parts of my character. So I had cancer, and I survived it more or less intact. It is my sincere hope that most cancer survivors deal better with the aftermath than I have. Everyday I struggle not to be ashamed that my body failed itself, but I am working on overcoming that each day I write in the blog. Thank you for humoring me.

Goal #2 - Top 10 in my graduating class

Being drum major and graduating in the Top 10 were two goals that never left me all through high school. They are still two achievements that give me strengths all these years later. Making the Top 10 took four years of work and dedication. I faltered a little in Mr. Bauer's chemistry class. I just had no passion for the class, and I made a C one six weeks. I ended up with a B average, but that wasn't my style at all.

Being diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease and undergoing chemo from the beginning of my senior year until the end of February didn't help my academics much. I didn't miss many whole days of school, but I did miss a lot of classes. I had Advanced Concepts math (aka Calculus) first period, and that class, although I really enjoyed it, was the one I missed the most. Some mornings, especially toward the end of my treatments, I just couldn't get going.

Mrs. Ratcliff was my Calculus teacher. I have had many teachers I would count as favorites - Mrs. DiChiara, Mrs. Wiist, Mrs. Gilmore, Ms. Lindsey - but Mrs. Ratcliff remains the most special. She took such good care of me my senior year. When I got home from Baptist Hospital, she came to see me. She brought a banner, probably 6-7 feet long, with well wishes from all my classmates. That banner decorated my bedroom for the rest of the year and even hung in my dorm at Troy State University. Many times I was invited to her house to catch up on school work and to shoot a little pool. She even attempted to video tape her class when I was unable to be there. That didn't work out so well because my family's video recorder wasn't the best, but she was willing to do whatever it took to keep me on track. However, the most important thing is something she didn't do; she never cut me a break because I was sick.

My other classes were relatively easy for me to keep up with because they required mostly reading, writing, researching, and memorizing. I had to put a lot more effort into Calculus. By January and February of that year, I was very weakened. On top of that, I kept getting sore throats and would have to have shots to boost my immune system. I couldn't have chemo while I was sick or taking the shots so it was taking longer that expected to complete my last chemo treatments. I was physically and mentally depleted. I was missing more classes during this time, especially Calculus. It was getting harder for me to keep up.

Remember how I said Mrs. Ratcliff never cut me a break because I was sick? Well, the proof came at the end of that winter's six weeks. I had earned and she placed on my report card a D!!!! I had only made one C in my life, and that was bad enough for me! The fact that my favorite teacher gave me a D was almost unbelievable to me. On top of that, it was a 68. In my professional opinion that should have been close enough to bump up to a 70/C, but she didn't. I wasn't mad, but I was horrified. I still had my hopes pinned on going to college the following fall, and that was going to have to be through an academic scholarship. Mrs. Ratcliff's advice was to work hard and bring up the semester average. I finally finished chemo at the end of February, and I started eight weeks of radiation. That wasn't near as draining on me as the chemo. I wasn't missing school, and I was working hard. For the next two six weeks, I received "A"s on my report card. My semester average was a high B. Good enough after the whole D incident.

The D didn't derail me. I graduated #8 in my class and won a full scholarship to Troy State. I also won several thousand additional dollars in private scholarships based on academics and my tale of fighting cancer while fully participating in school. And of course, I still loved Mrs. Ratcliff.

Goal #1 - Drum Major of the Mighty Band from Lion Land

As long as I can remember, I've been a goal setter. This comes from my mom. For most of my life she has been a very successful Realtor, and she learned the power of working toward specific goals from her visionary brokers Bob Malone and Sheila Hodges. During Mom's annual goal-setting sessions at work, she would come home and encourage me to set my own goals. I don't remember many specific goals I set. When my brother Kenny left for college when I was little little, I decided then I would go to college too. I achieved that early goal due to a full academic scholarship. Also, I remember that I wanted to make the All-County volleyball team in eighth grade. I didn't, but I was named the team's MVP at the end of the year sports banquet. The MVP plaque hung in my room way too long!

Two very specific goals I set my ninth grade year were to graduate in the Top 10 of my class and to be drum major in the band. I would have aimed higher than Top 10, but I hated the geometry class I had my freshman year and resolved simply to get out of that class alive. Alive for me meant with a B average. Since I'm still breathing, I must have done fine. However, I still get tense when I think about that class!

At the end of my junior year of high school I was named drum major for the Foley Band. I was so very excited, but I had never doubted that I would get the position. I still don't remember why I didn't try out at the end of my sophomore year. I had a broken arm that spring, but I could have tried out with a caste. Anyway, I have never regretted waiting until my last year. Because the previous year's drum majors had both graduated, the three drum majors were all new. I had the highest try-out scores so I was the head drum major. That basically meant I would get to direct from the tall stand while the other two had to step ladders.

When my oncologist told me I would have to begin chemotherapy in early August, I refused. My Number 1 goal was being drum major. It meant everything to me. I simply stated that treatment would have to wait until after the football season (or marching band season) ended. As far as I was concerned, there was to be no more discussion. Period. Please remember, I didn't feel bad. I never had any physical symptoms except for the tumors in my neck (the size of a walnut) and my chest (the size of a fist). I wasn't going to take medicine that was going to make me vomit and my hair fall out when I didn't feel it was necessary. My dad went to two doctor's appointments during all this. The first was when I was diagnosed by the ENT, and the second was this one. When I refused treatment, he threw a hissy fit.

My oncologist was wonderful. He assured me that he would give me the least invasive chemo that would still be affected. He further assured me that he and his nurse would work around my schedule. If that meant late nights or early morning treatments, they would make it work. and they did! I usually had treatment on Saturday morning except for the three or four weeks when we had band competitions. On those weekends, I would go in for chemo on Sunday afternoons. My nurse, Carole James, and her entire family deserve unlimited praise. She had children younger than I was. I'm sure she would have preferred to be home with them on the weekends, but there she was on her weekends spending 2-3 hours while I had my chemo infusions. Because she was willing to sacrifice her time, I reached my goal of being drum major. I only missed one band practice that fall, and that was when I was released late on a Monday afternoon from Baptist hospital.

Two other men deserve much credit for letting me reach this dream. My band directors, Mr. Pence and Mr. Cooper never asked me to give it up. They would have had every right to tell me no. Foley had one of the top bands in the South, and they had almost 200 hundred other students to consider. However, they never even hinted that they would ask me to step down. I can't find the right words to express how I felt when I directed the band. I certainly didn't feel like someone who was fighting for her life. Many thanks to the band directors, band boosters, and band students who let me have that experience.

The victims of my cancer

I have held on to my cancer diagnosis like Scrooge held onto his money. It was mine. All mine. Or at least that is a big idea that I have created. I have to realize even all these years later how it affected those around me.

I was probably most horrible to my mother. She was the one who continued to make me go to the doctors and have all the tests until I finally had cancer. The one thing to remember is I never felt bad. I considered myself perfectly healthy right until the moment the doctor told me I had cancer. My mom was the one who pushed the issue, and in some perverse way, I blamed her for making me sick. After all the diagnosis and all the test to stage the cancer, I didn't allow my mother to accompany me to my doctor's appointments. Looking back on it, that was cruel. She was so concerned and wanted or needed as much information as she could get, but I would not let her have it. She was only allowed to have what I filtered back to her. I had a car so I was able to check myself out of school for my monthly exams where my oncologist would review my blood tests and x-rays. My mom's first cousin-in-law was the receptionist for the doctor. My mom would generally call sometime during the day to check on if I had seen the doctor and to get a report. Because I was 17 and later 18 years old, our cousin wasn't able to give her any information without my permission. I always felt a little smug when Laura would tell me that my mom called and couldn't get any information. I wanted her to know what I wanted her to know. As far as I was concerned, it was mine and she couldn't have it.

As an adult, I feel my mom should have slapped the crap out of me and marched both of us into the exam room every month for my check-ups. I am very blessed that she had the patience and courage to let me be.

I didn't totally exclude her. She was allowed to sit with me during my chemo treatments. Those were long and boring, and I needed someone to keep me company. She was also allowed in the few times I got really sick. Not wanting to alarm anyone and not wanting to miss my chance to direct the half-time show for the Mighty Band from Lion Land, I went to school feeling sick with fever. I was totally incapable of participating in class. I was too weak, feverish, and exhausted. I spent the day on a cot in the office. I finally went home at the end of the day and crawled in bed until it was time to go to the stadium. I made it to through the half-time show before I admitted I was sick. My parents took me to the hospital in the middle of the night. My mom came with me to the exam room. Things were so bad I was sent to Baptist hospital in Pensacola where I stayed until the following Monday. My immune system was so weakened that I wasn't allowed any visitors. Only my parents, my doctors, and my nurses were allowed in my room. And strangely enough, I couldn't have any fruit or vegetables because they might carry some time of bacteria or germ that would make me sicker. During that hospital stay, I let my mom stay with me the first night. However, she had to get up so much to go to the bathroom that I sent her home the next night. This was probably another time she should have slapped me. I honestly don't know how she stood it. I know how much she loves me, and I am thankful she chose this time to let me be me.

I never really considered how having cancer affected my friends. Thinking back now, I'm sure it was hard to deal with the fact that their friend was sick and wouldn't talk about it. I didn't even tell many of them. They had to hear it from the grapevine. I remember an eighth grade "band-aid" telling me she heard I had breast cancer and was going to die. There was real worry on her face and in her voice. I snapped at her that it wasn't true. I had Hodgkin's disease and I would be fine. That was all she got because I didn't want to talk about it and no one made me. A teachable moment was lost during that exchange. A more mature person would have explained the diagnosis and prognosis and been more reassuring. I, however, was a brat.

I wanted to spend as little time at home as possible so my friends and their parents welcomed me into their homes excessively. I was as much at home at my friend Misti's house as I was my own. I can still vividly recall the bright turquoise wall paint and her really cool bedspread while I don't even remember anything about my own room's decor. I was the luckiest girl in the entire world to have some really amazing friends. Shannon, Shelby, and Misti were my sisters during this time, and they never made me feel like the sick kid. As drum major, I generally wore my hair in a French braid for performances. Every week, one of my very best friends would take on the challenge of braiding my hair. For normal teenage girls that would not be an issue, but as a chemo patient, my hair would come out in small handfuls anytime a brush touched it. Those girls endured each week so that I never had to feel like a sick kid.

One of the more frightening events occurred during Halloween. I don't remember the details very well. I had chemo either the day before or earlier that day. Because I was unable to ever admit when I was sick or weak, I agreed to go to the haunted forest at the Elberta museum with my friends. I remember that Misti and Shelby were there. In fact, I drove Shelby and me. We had to wait in line awhile. I don't remember much about that because I was either falling asleep or passing out. I don't remember much about the haunted forest except some flashing lights because I was either asleep or passed out. I will never really be sure if I was simply sleeping. However, my friends carried me through the forest. No sick kid syndrome for me. On the way home, I distinctly remember snapping awake as I was driving through Foley. I don't remember falling asleep, but I remember my head jerking up as Shelby and I passed the shopping center that was once Greer's. I could have killed us both. I hope Shelby didn't realized that. Unfortunately, I doubt I was more careful after that event. However, since I usually had chemo on Saturday or Sunday morning, depending on the football schedule and band competition, I usually had time to recover and avoided these types of situations.

I feel in my heart that my sickness has nothing to do with the fact that I'm just a mere acquaintance to these girls now. None of us went to the same college after high school so it is only natural that our friendships would fade. I do know for a fact that I was not the kind of confidant that my friends needed. I know they didn't want to worry me. I probably caused them agony because I wouldn't talk about being sick very often. I can't say enough how blessed I was by all my friends and classmates during that year. But in particular, these three girls were my greatest lifeline, and I am so happy they were apart of my life.

My secret: I had cancer

This is something that I NEVER talk about. The people who know, know. For those who don't, I don't want to tell you. However, as a part of major self-discovery exercises, I've decided I can't be all that I'm meant to be if I don't embrace this part of my history.

In the spring of 1994, I found an enlarged gland in my neck. I didn't think much of it until I didn't want to go to school one beautiful April day. I told my mom I had a sore throat and used this gland as proof. My mom took me to a doctor who was astute enough to know this was something more than a spring cold. For the next few months I took steroids and antibiotics and even saw a ENT specialist, but nothing made the gland disappear completely. In July, the specialist walked in the exam room and told me I had cancer - Hodgkin's disease. It was easy to treat and had a high success rate for remission; however, I would have to see an oncologist. The doctor was very calm about this. I was too at that moment. It wasn't until a week or so later, when the oncologist said I had Stage 2A and would have to undergo chemotherapy and radiation, that I lost control.

My dad cried. In fact, he cried so hard my mom called the Baptist preacher from my uncle's church to come to the house to console him. We're Episcopalians so that is something. I wasn't there when the preacher came. As soon as my dad started crying, I left the house. I ended up at my friend Elizabeth's house. She and her mom let me casually tell them what the diagnosis was and what the treatment would be. Then they left it alone, and Elizabeth and I watched a Pauly Shore movie. I don't remember which one, but it was just what I needed. I didn't want to go home because I didn't want to see my dad crying anymore. Something profound changed in me when I saw him crying. I don't remember if it was a conscious decision, but I shut down any process of sharing negative thoughts related to my cancer. I didn't want to add pain to my family, and certainly never wanted to make my daddy cry again. Looking back, I think this was a terrible option on my part. I closed myself off to protect others, and any many ways it has been to my own detriment.

If I've told you before now that I had cancer, then there was a reason. Either it was appropriate to the conversation, I said it as part of a joke, or I was forced into saying it. I promise it didn't come out because I was ok saying it out loud. For me, the diagnosis of cancer was a humiliation. When I think about it now, I still have feelings of shame, embarrassment, and disgust. I somehow felt like I let myself down by getting sick. I somehow failed by getting sick. I don't know if any other cancer survivors ever feel that way, but I hope they don't.

Once someone asked me if I would be able to talk to other young people who had cancer, if I would be able to mentor them. I said no. I don't like young people with cancer. I don't like seeing a disease steal days, weeks, months, life from young people. It brings back all the feelings that I have of shame and failure. I have not been the person who is diagnosed with cancer and decides to live her life to the fullest, treasuring every day. I have been the person who cowers away from my own dirty secret. It has affected so many aspects of my life. I am changing that now. You are reading the memories and feelings I had and still have from that traumatic year of my life. I don't know if it will mean anything to you, but I hope by venting this, I will finally come to a peace agreement with myself.