Cancer? Really? - Olivia's Hodgkin's Lymphoma Journey

"Classical Hodgkin's Lymphoma, Nodular Sclerosis."

I didn't know what to think at first. The diagnosis came seemingly out of nowhere--  after I had (foolishly, most would say) Googled my symptoms. I figured it out myself, but at the time, I still knew nothing about lymphoma. “Cancer? Really? What does this type of cancer mean for me? I had no idea I was at risk for Hodgkin's lymphoma…”

The thing was, I wasn't, really. I didn't possess any of the risk factors. For a while, I didn't understand that nothing I had ever knowingly done could have caused this. There's no known cause for my cancer besides a little bit of really bad luck. 

I was almost 30 years old. My grandmother had just died, but I was doing okay otherwise. Until I found out what was wreaking havoc inside my body. 

It was early April of 2024— the day of the total eclipse, actually. All of my friends and family were outside, watching Mother Nature’s beauty. I, however, stayed inside, in pain and exhausted. I received the diagnosis via MyChart that evening once the eclipse was over. Not receiving the news in person didn’t bother me as much as it could’ve, I suppose. It spared me from feeling like I had to react a certain way in front of my doctor or my partner. The next hardest part came right after— the waiting in between diagnosis and treatment beginning.

Months of bloodwork, scans, and chemo were done in a haze.

I was simply trying to survive, so I relied heavily on my partner and family members as caretakers. When I could distract myself, I would, but I couldn't do so for long. The word "CANCER" always sat in the very front of my mind. 

I finished chemo just a month ago, and it still sits in my mind, of course. I make lighthearted comments and jokes about it because those I love did more than enough for me during the physically toughest parts. I had no therapist because I wasn't ready to talk about it all. I am still struggling deeply, unable to open up and speak my innermost feelings about what I've been through. I haven't been able to cry even almost eight months after my diagnosis. Even today, as I write this, I officially got the ‘all clear’ approval from my oncology team. But my reaction was noticeably quiet, according to my nurse practitioner.

Some day, it will all hit me. I believe that I'll be able to trust someone enough to have an honest, serious discussion about the mental trauma that this experience has brought to me. And I'll cry, too. And it won't be such a weight after that because it'll be the right time to let go of a bit of it. 

But now, I still feel like I'm just trying to survive.