How did this happen to me?
Sandra S., August 2011
That was my first thought when I was diagnosed with cancer. My doctor said the words malignant squamous cell carcinoma and I had no idea what that meant. He explained that I had an uncommon form of cancer involving a malignant tumor and cancer cells in my pelvic and back lymph nodes, including precancerous cells in my cervix. Simply put, I had anal cancer.
After talking with my doctor—and doing a lot of research on my own—I came to understand that this type of cancer can be caused by the human papillomavirus (HPV), a common sexually transmitted infection. Though I didn’t know I had HPV, I realized that minor, seemingly insignificant, symptoms I had experienced over the past two years were likely signs of this awful disease manifesting itself inside my body. Ironically, I recall my mother suggesting I visit the doctor about these symptoms and me sarcastically replying, “Why? I don’t want to find out I have cancer.” I guess I instinctively knew something was wrong. Had I gone to my doctor then, this tumor may not have had the chance to progress as far as it did.
For a long time I felt ashamed. Through my research, I understood the risk factors for this disease and that typically only high-risk groups contracted this uncommon cancer. I was reluctant to tell others about my disease for fear I would be judged and stigmatized. I thought that, through my actions, I had invited this terrible virus into in my body. But I now understand that, cancer doesn’t care about statistics or risk factors, about the color of your skin or your gender. Cancer sees an opportunity and makes its move, despite your best efforts to be healthy and regardless of the choices you make in life. Cancer just happens, most often when we least expect it, and no one is ever prepared for it.
Having finally come to terms with the fact that I had cancer, I now began the real fight. My treatment included two sessions of chemotherapy and six solid weeks of radiation. My chemotherapy used two types of drugs, one which was fed into me for a full week at a time. Radiation took place five days a week for twenty minute intervals. A couple of hospital visits and few blood transfusions got in the mix as well. I was left tired, weak, barely able to eat, and burnt (literally). A host of meds kept me barely out of pain, but strong enough to get up each day to do it all again.
Sometimes I saw other people in treatment looking chipper, talking of work and weekend activities, and couldn’t help but compare my situation. Initially, upon diagnosis and while planning for the six week treatment ahead of me, I thought that I would jump right back into the groove of things once treatment was over and my cancer was conquered. I know now that it takes a long time for the body to recover from an assault like that—from both the cancer itself and from the treatment. Two years have passed and I still don’t feel entirely like the energetic, ready-to-go gal I once was. But I have learned to adjust to my new physical state, to listen when my body tells me it needs rest. Most importantly, I realize the great effort was worth it.
Without a doubt, the invaluable foundation of support—both spiritually and physically—that I received from my care team aided me in my fight to overcome this dreaded illness. Each and every one offered respect, knowledge, and reminders that fighting cancer is all about taking care of yourself, believing in survival, and accepting and receiving support from our loved ones—in my case, my mother, who was by my side every single day. I’ll admit there were days when I could not have taken another step on my own had it not been for her support.
This opportunity has allowed me to see the beauty and grace that others extend to their fellow human beings – which is phenomenal. My care team included a lot of people who provided many different types of support and encouragement: fantastic, kind oncologists who devoted much time to us; triple-star nurses who pressed cool hands to a hot neck on my worst day; radiation techs who gave me dignity even in the most vulnerable situations; Dr. Lee in the radiation clinic, who gave me access to holistic remedies; the lively EMR transport guys who teasingly offered to race my mom (she won every time!); and the front desk staff who cheerfully greeted us each day by name. Even at my weakest moments, I wanted to keep fighting—not just for myself, but for everyone that worked so hard to keep me alive and thriving.
I am coming up on two years since the completion of my treatment and yet it feels like yesterday. I am still working on the emotional effects of my cancer, but I want others to know that there is no shame in this disease. Today I aspire to reach out and offer hope to others so that they may be empowered to fight cancer with acceptance and courage, no matter the outcome. I challenge every survivor, supporter, and healer to do the same—reach out! Let’s not let cancer have the last word. We have a voice, and as long and far as mine will resonate I plan to use it to fight back.
My name is Sandra and I am a cancer survivor.
