Nineteen Again––A Survivor’s Full-Circle Moment
Jennifer Young
When my daughter turned 19 this summer, I had a strange sensation of watching myself walk through a doorway I once stood in. Same long auburn hair. Same hazel eyes. Same thoughtful nature. Out of all four of my children, she’s the one who’s always been called my mini-me.
Nineteen is an age full of promise. But for me, it’s also a number wrapped in memory.
I was 19 when I was diagnosed with stage III nodular melanoma. It was fast-growing, deeply rooted, and terrifying. I had surgery to remove the tumor from the back of my scalp – it left a lime-sized indentation that I’ve spent decades quietly hiding. But even more than the physical scars, I carry the emotional imprint of that time: the fear, the loss of innocence, the way my body no longer felt like a place I could trust.
For years, I worked to cover the scars on my shoulders from vaccine injections, the bald spot on the back of my head, and a skin graft scar on my backside. I avoided sleeveless shirts, high ponytails, and bikini bottoms. But it wasn’t just vanity. I didn’t want the world to see that something had once gone terribly wrong.
My now-husband, who was my boyfriend back then, stayed by my side through it all. He brought me to appointments, held my hand through test results, and whispered, “We’ll get through this,” even when we didn’t know what “through” looked like. We eventually built a life together – marriage, children, careers – but cancer always had a quiet seat at the table.
He is a survivor in his own way. He lived through it all beside me––the anxiety, the waiting rooms, the sleepless nights. He bore witness to a version of me I was still learning how to live with. And now, decades later, we get to raise the family we once only dared to imagine. I don’t take that lightly. Every milestone with our children feels like a gift.
This year, as our third child walks into her nineteenth year, I am struck by how different her story is from mine. She’s healthy, curious, and full of dreams. She’s exploring art and education, asking big questions, building the life I once feared I wouldn’t live long enough to have. And now, decades into survivorship, I have the joy and privilege to witness it all.
There’s no rule book for long-term survivorship. At first, it felt like holding my breath. I’d count clear scans like quiet victories, always wondering if the next one would bring bad news. But over time, I’ve realized that healing doesn’t mean forgetting what you’ve been through. It means learning how to live with it – even grow because of it.
The National Cancer Survivors Day Foundation defines a survivor as anyone living with a history of cancer, from the moment of diagnosis through the remainder of life. That definition resonates deeply with me. I didn’t feel like a survivor when my treatments ended and my scans cleared, or when I tried to go back to college and pretend everything was fine. But with time, I’ve come to understand that survivorship isn’t about surpassing what happened. It’s about getting through the worst of it and continuing to live to the fullest despite it all.
What I’ve learned most over the years is how important it is to listen to your body, to trust your intuition, and to speak up when something feels off. I now teach writing to college students, many of whom are the same age I was when I got sick. I encourage them to trust their voice––not just on the page, but in their lives. To know that their stories matter, which means that their health matters too.
My cancer experience shaped me in ways I couldn’t have imagined back then. It made me more resilient, more empathetic, and more willing to embrace the messiness of life. And it’s given me an incredible appreciation for quiet, ordinary moments––like saying goodnight to my daughter as she heads up the stairs, her long hair brushing her back, her future unwinding before her.
There’s something sacred about seeing 19 through her eyes––not as a number I survived, but now as a life she gets to live fully too.
And in that, I celebrate us both.
Jennifer Young is a writing professor, mother of four, and nature enthusiast. Follow her on Instagram @jennifer_young_writer or JenniferYoung.net.
