Am I A Cancer Patient or Not?

I would bet big money that very few people diagnosed with cancer also hear, "You're lucky." I did. You'd probably think that was a good thing. Of course you'd be right, but that only tells half the story.

At age 49, I dutifully went for my yearly mammogram without a care (or lump) in the world. Days later, the nurse called to say the results were "suspicious." But "not to worry," she advised, "Eighty-five percent of women your age who have micro-calcifications have them because they are 49."

More than four months later, after stereotactic and surgical biopsies, I was diagnosed with Stage 0, DCIS, ductal carcinoma in situ. I heard the words everyone else hears, "You have cancer." But, I also heard, "You're lucky."

But was I "lucky" that I didn't have "real" cancer?

A few days later, magical thinking collided with the word "mastectomy" and almost literally knocked me off my chair. Looking back, of course it was lucky I didn't need chemo. But at that point, I just couldn't square being lucky with losing a body part.

I was confused. Without chemotherapy, was I even a cancer patient? If I wasn't a cancer patient, what was I? How did I fit into the cancer community, if I fit in at all?

As a Stage 0/"lucky" one/whatever I was, I assumed support was for people much worse off and my focus should be on counting my blessings. Also, as a wife and mother, I felt compelled to ramp up my role as emotional touchstone. It wasn't easy to ramp down and be the "needy" one.

That's how I spent six months from mammogram to mastectomy. While my excellent medical team tended to my physical well-being, my emotional welfare floundered on the rocks. My family and friends tried to be supportive, but were at a loss. With no cancer mentors, allies or advocates, I was exhausted and lonely.

Ironically, it was my mastectomy that finally brought me into a community.

I went into surgery and woke up in a world of 24/7 support. My cancer center became my home away from home, offering support groups, programs, and one-on-one therapy. As I shared with others who "got it," I finally felt like a member of the club no one wants to join.

And then, almost as suddenly, treatment ended and the support network I worked so hard to build fell away. At the last session of a rehabilitative exercise program a fellow breast cancer survivor asked me,"Where do we go now?" Standing there, feeling lost again, I was determined to find an answer.

You have to keep reaching out to create inspired healing, wellness and live out loud joy.

Transitioning from cancer patient to survivor doesn't have to be done alone. Here's the plan:

1. Keep Talking

Facing a "new normal" creates stories that need to be told. Join or start a support group. Look for online communities such as I Had Cancer and my website, WhereWeGoNow. Keep sharing your stories with others who "get it." We're out here and we want to talk with you.

2. Be Good to Yourself

It's normal to be lost and confused when treatment is over. Give yourself time and take each day as it comes. Realize that you're going through a difficult transition which can't be rushed, no matter how much you want to get back to "normal." If friends and family don't understand where you are, tell them! If they still don't understand, all the more reason to keep talking to other survivors who "get it."

3. Give Back

Get involved and contribute in ways that are meaningful for you. Giving back for all the support I received brought my gratitude full-circle and helped me heal. It also helped me bring more survivors into my support circle.

It wasn't until I felt understood and supported that I finally appreciated my luck. The ability to hear and say, "Me too" is an awesome force and we're all entitled to share in its power to heal.