I’m tired of people telling me how “lucky” I am to have survived cancer. Yes, I made it through, and I’m profoundly relieved to be alive. But to think that I should feel lucky after losing my breasts—not once, but twice—enduring 18 months of chemotherapy, facing multiple surgeries over nine years, being forced out of my job due to complications, losing my hair, and watching my livelihood slip away… You must be out of your mind to call that lucky.
I wish people would understand that, while we’re grateful to still be breathing, those of us who’ve survived breast cancer are left to rebuild lives that have been torn apart. We never asked for this disease, yet it ravaged our bodies and shattered the life we knew, leaving us struggling for years to repair the damage. It’s cost us our jobs, our homes, our partners, and our peace of mind. Telling me that I’m “lucky” after all this just doesn’t make sense.
People often ask if I’m angry. Yes, I’m angry—and I have every right to be. And when someone says, “You made it through the hard part, so just keep it moving,” I can’t help but think: Really? Really? Fucking really?
Because if you’ve never been here, you have no idea what it’s like to survive something that still haunts you every single day.