As this series unfolds in week three, more survivor voices join the chorus, each adding a layer of depth to the question of how they first knew something was wrong. Their experiences remind us that no two journeys are the same, yet each one deserves attention.
AS OUR SERIES CONTINUES, EVEN MORE SURVIVORS ADD THEIR VOICES TO THE QUESTION OF WHEN THEY FIRST REALIZED SOMETHING WAS WRONG. THEIR EXPERIENCES SHOW THAT SYMPTOMS CAN LOOK DIFFERENT FOR EVERYONE—BUT THAT EACH STORY MATTERS AND DESERVES ATTENTION.
“Is there a part of your story that you’re still learning how to tell?”
I’m pretty open about it; it’s been 19 years. I can’t say it was always the case, but I used to hate my horizontal scar, and I bought one-piece bathing suits because of it at first.
I haven’t told many people about what I’ve been going through. I don’t want a slew of people who don’t normally keep in contact to feel sorry for me or reach out only because they’ve heard I had cancer. I never want a pity party.
One of my high school classmates and choir mates in Illinois was going through the same symptoms as I was at the same time. We were diagnosed and had surgery at the same time. Lynn Johnson Holden passed away two years later in 2012, at the age of 45. She was always the life of the party, and I was super shy. I have flipped my personality around to find that joy in the world that she had. Still feel survivor’s guilt that she is gone, and I am here.
Not really, I’m an open book.
Saying the word Cancer is still hard for me. Even the reality of what happened to me is sometimes difficult to grasp. Having to continue to be seen by doctors and being OK with that is hard. I now have white coat syndrome, where my BP gets high when I go to any doctor.
No. I am pretty comfortable telling my story. I hope that my story can help other women who are fighting this beast.
How it will end. I think about this a lot.
Not sure. Maybe processing the whole thing. I don’t think I ever fully processed having cancer. I just went with the flow and did/do what I needed to do to survive another day.
I try not to think about it. I’m so grateful to still be here with my family. ♡
My experience with this roller coaster ride that I was on, trying to explain all the emotions that were and are still going on.
Absolutely. People who have not been through cancer cannot fathom the effect it has. Some people think I’m silly for not eating certain things, but I know that there’s a purpose in supporting my body in what it needs. I still have many chapters left to discover for myself!
Sometimes I struggle to find the words to explain the worry of having a recurrence.
I’m pretty much an open book.
Yes. I have evolved over the past years. I now know that speaking out, telling my story, and realizing that every ache and pain, every search for a doctor to help me, is related to my ovarian cancer. Having them listen while I relay my concerns gets old after a while, but I am motivated to live what time I have as best I can with quality.
I still have a difficult time sharing the fear and anger I experienced. When the bombshell of the diagnosis ripped my life apart, I struggled to get a handle on it… to move forward. I refused to tell people and did not want anyone outside of my inner circle to know I was sick. I was afraid to die and miss out on my children’s weddings and grandchildren… my future. It took a long time for me to regain my footing, deal with the cancer, and live my life.
I’m still learning how to tell the part of my story about surviving when so many women I met along the way didn’t. Survivor’s guilt is real, and for a long time, it kept me quiet. But I know my voice matters, not just to warn others and push for earlier detection, but to help drive research so that my daughter and granddaughter will never have to face this disease.
I will continue to write my story every day. I stopped working last year. So far, that has been the hardest part for me. I am still trying to figure out what my new normal is.
It is still challenging for me to allow people who don’t know me well to know how serious ovarian cancer is. I tend to want to minimize my experience, and at the same time, I know how frightening it is.
I am only about 5 months out from my diagnosis. I am still learning that I am a survivor, even though I am still in chemotherapy and learning about my genetic link (BRCA2 gene).
“What does survivorship mean to you today?”
Advocacy
It means I can still fight. It means I can help others who are on the same journey. It means I can still live a life even though it wasn’t the one I planned on.
They say you are a survivor from the day you are diagnosed.
I am thankful for the people who helped me through this journey.
I am 75 years old, and life has been good. Something good comes out of every journey, no matter how difficult it may be. Maybe in some way, I can be a light to others who may be facing the same journey
Taking a second chance and running with it.
Family, my husband, my children, my grandchildren… watching them grow and thrive!!!
Being able to do the hard things. It’s hard to even say that I’m a survivor because you live this every day. You fear the slightest feeling of how you felt before. But it also means love. It means that I have amazing people around me.
Another chance. A chance to be a better person. A chance to be more compassionate.
Living my life, but resting when needed
Another chance at life. Being alive. Being able to spend more time with family!
Being a survivor to me means not dying from my illness. Living longer than what the statistics say.
Everything. EVERY. THING. How do I even begin to put that into words?
That I can keep on living even if the cancer is just kept at bay. It means thriving despite it being there.
I know that it means something different for everyone, but my experience is that even though I am cancer-free, my new chapter or new journey is just starting, trying to get back to “normal” after cancer.
Being able to see my grandchildren grow. Being here to support all my children in their lives as they reach adulthood and beyond.
I should appreciate living every day. I am still here
Living each day to the fullest, loving people, and trusting God.
I am NED and thriving and FINALLY enjoying my retirement after 33 years in education.
Living my best life and being the healthiest version of me that I have the willpower to be.
I did it, I survived. It is like being tossed in the ocean, not knowing how to swim, and landing up on the beach by the grace of God.
Survivorship means spreading awareness of the signs and symptoms of ovarian cancer. It means being a voice for all the women who no longer have a voice. It means being available and present for other ovarian cancer survivors who may need support or just someone to listen… who understands.
Survivorship to me means more than just living; it’s living fully, with purpose and gratitude. Facing cancer hasn’t diminished my life; it’s enhanced it in ways you can’t understand unless you’ve walked this closely with mortality. The truth is, something is always trying to take us out; the only difference is, medically, I know what’s trying to kill me right now. You don’t have to be afraid of cancer. It’s not always a death sentence, and it doesn’t have to steal your joy or your purpose.
Survivorship means living and doing as much as I can.
Gratitude! Even though I don’t have much family, I’ve never been without the support I needed.
Survivorship is not giving up, not letting hardships control your life or define you. Survivorship is fighting the battle until the end, no matter the outcome. Survivorship is showing your best in the worst times. Survivorship is having a scar in your body, losing your hair, doing chemo, dealing with side effects, etc. Survivorship is dealing with uncertainty and the unknown.
