by Diane Tefft Young, MA, LICDC-CS
In late January 2015, I was diagnosed with uterine cancer – stage IIIC. My oncologist recommended a “sandwich” treatment plan. I would receive three 6-hour chemo infusions three weeks apart, followed by 28 daily radiation sessions. Treatment would end with two additional 6-hour chemo infusions four weeks apart. As I was trying to take this all in, I posed a question: when will I lose my hair? The response was that my chin-length, fine gray hair would be completely gone following the second chemo infusion.
Learning to Love My Body
and Live Out Loud
by Morgan Thompson
Scared. Confused. Hurt. Ashamed. When I was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma at just 26 years old, I was overwhelmed with so many different emotions, but the feeling of shame kept washing over me. I naively believed that cancer was something that happened to “other” people. It had never touched my life in a personal way, and I assumed that if I did the right things (exercise and eat a healthy diet) — it never would.
Determined to Live
by Virginia Repsys
I was 27 years old when I was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma. I had known something was wrong. But I never imagined it’d be cancer. I guess none of us do. I was devastated, but I tried to remain hopeful. When I researched my disease online, I found out that my type and stage of cancer had a 90-percent five-year survival rate. But even that didn’t quell the fear I felt inside.
My Raven Moccasins
by Barbara Center
I’d forgotten about my raven-black moccasins, still safe in their box on the top shelf of my bedroom closet. I’d forgotten about their rubber nonslip soles, the white and gold beads that gently adorn their black leather tops, and the trim – four inches of soft black fur – that hugged my ankles and lower calves.
Against All Odds
by Stacey Polak
In 1998, I received chemotherapy while I was pregnant. Diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma at the end of my first trimester, the prognosis wasn’t great, and the unknowns were terrifying. I was sick from both the pregnancy and the chemo. Weak and exhausted, I rarely left the house. The odds weren’t in my favor, yet by my third cycle of chemo, my tumor was shrinking.
Take Control of Your Journey
by Lynda Peterson
What do you do when you’re given a cancer diagnosis? After you get over the shock and the air returns to your lungs, after your soul returns to your body and you no longer feel as if you’re floating above watching the scene unfold beneath you, do you feel sad? Yes. Scared? Yes. Confused and paranoid? Yes. Do you feel sorry for yourself? Yes. At least for about three seconds. Then you have a choice: put your head in the sand and wait to die, or hold your head up high, summon the courage that is deep in your soul, and show yourself and the world just what you’re made of. You get on with the business of healing.
by Shay M. White
Cancer makes you love more.
Cancer makes you think more.
Cancer makes you depend on God more.
Cancer Can’t Dance Like This
by Daniel Stolfi
It was Valentine’s Day 2008. I know this because my roommate wanted the apartment to himself so he could have a “special” night with his girlfriend. The moment I stepped outside of my apartment building to give him some space, the cold winter air hit me like a punch to the face. This strange ill feeling in my bones swept through my body, and I thought to myself that I must have been getting the flu. This didn’t feel like your normal, run-of-the-mill flu, but I went on with my life thinking it would pass on its own. Well, it didn’t pass.