I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer in February 2022. Symptoms started in August 2021, which I was quick to respond to but had to wait several months for an ultrasound. The scan found my endometrium to be far thicker than it should be, torpedoing me into a bewildering and frightening few months filled with levels of uncertainty that my system struggled to cope with. I found myself moving between states of high anxiety and terror; anger and rage; guilt and shame; sadness and despair; loneliness and isolation and moments of feeling very numb and cut off.
From the moment ‘cancer’ was mentioned everything changed. I have now had my hysterectomy and brachytherapy and my mind and my body are more able to start to look towards healing and recovery. My physical healing is moving at a faster pace than my emotional healing and I know I need to reflect on the impact cancer has had on me and my life over the past few months.
I started taking some time to write down what I had lost and what had changed. At the last count I had made a note of 30 things that had changed in myself or in my life, as a result of cancer, since February.
I wanted to share a few of them because I don’t think I am on my own in feeling like this.
I lost my health. I had never really been unwell before or spent any time in hospital. Now I had a body that had stopped working for me and had started working against me.
I lost trust in my body as something that was safe. Part of my own body, if left unchecked, could kill me. I lost a sense of control of my own body. Not only was part of it growing something that could potentially kill me but other people were now making decisions about what happened to my body. Somebody was telling me that they were going to remove my womb, my ovaries, my cervix. These were ‘my’ things. I did not want them to go but I lost my ability to have a choice because there was no choice. The cancer had to be removed.
I lost my peace of mind and I became hypervigilant about every little pain and twinge in my body.
I lost my sense of privacy and dignity. My diagnosis and my body felt like it was in the public domain: nurses, consultants, my GP, my family, friends, my employer all knew about intimate parts of my body and what was happening to them. Surgery and invasive procedures became the norm and I lost my capacity to enforce the rules and boundaries of my own body and to protect myself.
I lost my sense of safety not only in my belief that my body was a safe space that looked after me and was healthy and well but also my sense of safety in the world where I was protected from harm, because I had not been protected from harm; I had cancer.
I lost my motivation, my sense of freedom, being able to be excited about things, looking forward to the future because I did not know if I would have one. If I did, it was going to be different than the one I thought it was going to be before cancer and I could not physically feel excited because fear had hijacked it.
I lost my sense of financial security and had to stop work for a while, losing my sense of professional identity.
I lost what was left of my remaining fertility and my pre-menopausal body and I lost the experience of any gradual transition to menopause. One day I was not in menopause and the next day I was.
I lost my sense of feeling like an adult or an expert. Now, other people were telling me what was going to happen to me next. I felt needy and vulnerable and wanting to be taken care of. I feel like I have lost some of my confidence. Life was a series of appointments and hospital visits. I felt like a novice in a completely new world of cancer where I didn’t know anything.
I lost my sense of femininity, desirability and attractiveness and I lost a sense of innocence about my own mortality.
I lost the ‘me’ I had been three months ago without warning or preparation. I think we can be quick to dismiss or make light of these losses. Some are only temporary, others more permanent. But, for me each one of them deserves some of my attention and some of my time as I grieve what cancer has taken from me so that I can begin to embrace what comes next and start living again.