Surprising Secrets of a Stage 4 Cancer Sage
What’s so great about cancer?
My name is Ali, and I’m a newbie to Medium. This is my first article on the platform. I’m not new to the public arena, but I’m not quite sure what I’m doing around here, so I’m giving it a go!
I live well with Stage 4 Breast Cancer.
I’ve been to hell and back, but I have a unique view about experiencing cancer that is often difficult for people to understand.
I love having cancer.
Phew, I said it! (Sitting here grimacing.)
I know that might be unpopular with most people impacted by the trauma of this disease. You might even feel angry with me as you read that. Fair enough.
How could I feel this way? I get it. I haven’t always loved cancer. It has ripped my life apart like many others, and in the past, I have said, “F*** cancer too!” I’ve lost people. When I was the tender age of 12 my mum was diagnosed. A year later her mother, my grandmother, was diagnosed. When I was at the (still) tender age of 16 they both died within nine months of each other.
I bungee-jumped into adulthood without a harness. It was too much for my brain to process. All that trauma and PTSD created dysfunction. It’s fair to say that I ran off the rails as a young adult. Alcohol, marijuana, partying, and disastrous relationships became my MO as I tried to run from the consuming devastation of my loss, and fear of the same thing happening to me.
Every Mother’s Day my heart ached. I couldn’t bear to hear about everyone’s wonderful celebrations. Birthdays, Christmas, and milestones were the same. Even though Dad remarried and our Step-Mum was lovely, it was a PTSD trigger to be reminded of the absence of my own precious mum.
Eventually, in my mid-20s I met a man who pursued me relentlessly. I enjoyed the attention and the chase. He made me feel good about myself until I married him and entered a life of abuse. Even though we had three amazing children, it wasn’t enough for him to change his ways. He whittled me down like a fine art wood craftsman. For years I wrestled with the notion that the world might be better off without me. My daily thoughts became about how ugly I was, and how unworthy of happiness I was. “This is all you deserve,” I often said to myself.
Around the age of 30, I started to get my act together. I started therapy, worked with an energy healer, and prioritized my well-being. I started working out, staying out, and opened my own secret bank account. I grew curious about what was possible for me. I was resilient, resourceful, and learning to love myself, for the first time.
Eventually, after 11 years of being told I was, “F****d in the head,” I left my husband.
As a working single mum without any support, I clawed my way back to a level of emotional wellness that enabled me to reconnect with joy. Whenever I walked along the street during my sunrise religion, I noticed the sun’s dappled light through the trees. I watched the leaves dance in the breeze. I felt the warmth on my face.
There was no hangover with that kind of high.
I began to realize what I’d missed for most of my life.
After two years of vibing with the universe, I met the love of my life. “Thank God for Phil,” my healer would say. He had been through his own crap in life but kept me grounded and called me on my bs and self-sabotage.
When we first met our connection was electrifying. He was besotted with my green eyes, and I was busted staring at his guns. That night when we asked each other, “How many children do you have?” and we both said three, we cringed. At that moment we knew it was already too late to walk away, even though we only met a few hours before.
After a few years together Phil proposed. (I ruined the evening, but that’s another story for another time.) We bought a house, blended our Brady Bunch, and married in a stunning ceremony on the side of a hill with an incredible view. The adventure of a lifetime had begun. It was 2015.
I should have felt happy, right?
After the hype of the wedding and honeymoon, reality settled in. Life with six blended teenage children and working full-time was challenging. Six months later I was feeling dissatisfied. I’d had enough of work and the daily grind. I questioned if I’d made the right decision to get married and force our kids to live together. Some days were tough. I was in a regular state of grumpy biatch.
In all the chaos I realized I’d neglected my regular breast screenings.
At the age of 31, I started yearly check-ups of mammograms and ultrasounds of my breasts as a precaution. Because of my family history, I faced a 50% increased risk of occurrence.
I felt the inner urge to book an appointment scream at me after it had been on my mind for over a year. I later discovered I had neglected my appointment for three years. The night before my appointment I performed a self-examination. I’d lapsed with those too.
To my shock, I felt a large lump under my left breast. A couple of days later my worst fear had come true. ‘Malignant’ was circled on the report I opened without permission. I was 45 years old.
When was I going to die like my mum and grandmother?
Telling our kids was horrendous. As a mum, I should be their nurturer. In that moment I shattered them. All the guilt and shame I’d felt throughout my life didn’t come close to how I felt on that day.
My aging father lost two wives to cancer. The day we told him he hung his head in his hands.
Losing my breast, going through chemo and radiotherapy, and not being able to perform the simplest of tasks was devastating for all of us. Family holidays were abandoned. Christmas was a disaster. I couldn’t work, and we nearly lost our house. My eldest son was in his last year of school, in the middle of his final exams. Everything about our lives was ruptured.
Something interesting happened the day after my diagnosis though. Once the initial shock settled, I embraced acceptance.
I can’t explain how I knew, but I just knew everything would be alright.
I felt a powerful and genuine love for the lump in my breast before my surgery, and I knew the whole scenario was much bigger than me with a purpose I didn’t understand yet. I felt my only choice was to surrender and go with the unknown.
In that surrender, I answered the call to start writing. The pull was overwhelming. Who was I to start sharing my story? I felt sick to my stomach with fear, however, did it anyway. It started with a blog. I knew nothing about writing but started sharing my experiences. Unexpectedly, people were supportive, and I received positive feedback.
If one woman’s life would be saved through early detection because she was motivated to have a check-up after reading my stories, all of it would be worth it.
Soon after I felt a new urge. This time it was to study a Diploma of Psychology at university. I wanted to understand how my brain worked. Studying the science of the brain helped me figure out how the events of my childhood trauma and PTSD had created my thoughts, emotions, and actions. I remember the “aha” moment. Knowing how my brain worked as a result of my life experiences explained everything about my past choices, behaviors, and feelings of low self-worth.
I remember thinking, ‘I have to share this with other women to help them heal as I am.’ I then created a Facebook Group, built a business as a therapist, and published my first book. I was making a difference in the world and was back to feeling the bliss of watching the sunlight kiss the leaves in the trees and chatting with the birds in the breeze.
Three years ago, I noticed I was experiencing increasing pain in my left hip. After it eventually became excruciating, I reluctantly visited my doctor who requested new scans. Bingo! Number 4 — ‘Knock at the door.’ Incurable, Stage 4, Metastatic Breast Cancer. Here I was again, six months after receiving the five-year all-clear.
This time around has been a different experience with cancer. Three doses of radiotherapy later my life has carried on as normal. I’m still working, in my day job and my business.
My religion is my daily healing activities like standing on the grass barefoot to watch the sunrise. I also meditate and have done for years now. I can’t live without it. I practice energy exercises like EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique), to release and regulate strong emotions, and Energy Medicine to activate my body’s healing potential. I’m also a certified Reiki Master and enjoy profound moments of bliss.
I choose ease and flow.
I refuse to subscribe to the cancer war of fear and provocation and never use fight language like battle, or warrior.
The body cannot possibly draw on its innate ability to survive if it must fight the lion.
I believe in the beauty of cancer.
I celebrate the deepening of relationships with new people I’ve met because of cancer. I invite joy into my life and let go of my attachment to things and expectations of people. I feel the gratitude in waking up each morning. Everything else is a bonus. I celebrate slower days.
I immerse in the little things like the dance of a flower in the wind and the smile of a stranger walking past. I feel all the feelings and embrace the contrast of simplicity and complexity. I love the hot mess, and the grace in each day. I stand in front of the mirror and truly see me, and all that I am.
I’ve allowed myself to let go of people who can’t hold a safe supportive space for me, as I do them. I don’t apologize for any of it, I’m a take-it-or-leave-it kinda gal, and I will tell you I love you when you move on.
I crave silence. I’ll lay on the beach for hours.
The most important priority in my life is my healing.
My scans are currently clear.
Am I in denial? No, I’m not. I’m here, fully present in the whole experience.
I simply choose to flow through it, not fight.
So, that’s me! Mum, step-mum, wife, therapist, healer, writer (of sorts), author, and cancer patient. My book The Glorious Responsibility of Happiness is a daily reminder of our choices around perspective. If you made it all the way here, thank you. I appreciate you. As I navigate this space I open up to learning more about me, my writing, and you. Woo!
