A friend of mine has a close acquaintance who has just been diagnosed with breast cancer. She is a young mother, and my thoughts drift back to my own experience during those initial days following my diagnosis. What did I need to hear? What information was essential for me?
First and foremost, I want to reassure her: “You are going to be OK.” I would emphasize it, proclaiming, “YOU ARE GOING TO BE OK!” I encourage her to adopt this mantra: “I am going to be OK … I am going to be OK.” Is it true? Absolutely. It must be. I continue to remind myself of this: “I am going to be OK.”
I would explain that the overwhelming sadness, confusion, darkness, and constant feelings of panic will not persist. They cannot. Such intensity of despair is not sustainable. It may feel as though it will never cease, and while others will assure you it will, you might find it hard to believe. I recall sobbing in my car with my father the day after receiving my diagnosis, expressing my greatest fear: “What if I’m never happy again?” My father wept alongside me, and words failed him. What can one promise in such a moment?
I would promise her: Happiness will return. Does this hold true? Yes, without a doubt.
Next, I would urge her to seek out a physician she can trust—one who looks her in the eye and recognizes her as a woman, a mother, a person, rather than a mere statistic. A doctor who is knowledgeable about the latest research and provides a robust treatment plan, along with hope.
Then, I would make her vow—swear to me—that she will NEVER, under any circumstances, Google breast cancer. The internet is rife with facts, statistics, and stories of others that do not pertain to her. When questions, fears, or worries arise, she should reach out to her doctor. Google is not a reliable oracle for her journey. Instead, I would advise her to pray, call a friend, take a walk, enjoy a bath, or release her frustrations in a healthier manner. But please, do NOT Google it.
I would also have to prepare her for the reality that pain is inevitable. Her body may feel foreign, and she will experience feelings of isolation and fear. She might find herself envying other women in the grocery store, effortlessly chatting on their phones and tending to their children, their hair casually styled. She will remember the ease of moving through her day.
She may feel envious of those who kindly offer to care for her children, all the while listening to their laughter and crying softly so they don’t hear her. Tears will come frequently—sometimes gently, as a sign of acceptance of this journey, and other times, in a fierce outburst of anger questioning “why me?”
I would encourage her to seek professional help, to speak with someone who can navigate her emotional landscape. A therapist can affirm her feelings, helping her to accept and own the full spectrum of her emotions. My partner and I sought help during our difficult times, and it was invaluable in validating our experiences and providing us with tools to cope.
I would tell her that vulnerability is a form of strength. The true strength that others often admire lies in the ability to reveal one’s weaknesses. To be open, messy, scared, and real. There is no need for pretense. Authenticity can draw people in; there is beauty in brokenness, a power that can inspire kindness from strangers. Allowing herself to depend on others can reveal the goodness in humanity.
I would explain that attempts to numb the pain are ultimately futile and that embracing emotions is far more effective than resisting them. My father often reminds me of a metaphor: Life is like a river, constantly flowing. Clinging to a rock in fear of the rapids will only wear one out. It is necessary to let go, to surrender to the current. Yes, there will be tumbles and collisions, but peace awaits in the smooth stretches of the river, where sunlight warms your face. I would urge her to let go.
I wouldn’t inquire about her faith or recite typical phrases of consolation. Instead, I would hold her hand tightly and say a silent prayer, hoping she feels the divine presence in the love that surrounds her. I would pray that she discovers the flicker of light within herself that can never be extinguished, regardless of the challenges she faces. I would simply hold her hand and pray.
My heart would ache for her, and I might shed a tear. Yet, I would grasp her hand firmly and tell her, “You are going to be OK.” I would listen without judgment, and I would hope she notices my own hair regrowing—reminding her that spring always follows winter. I would wish for her to believe.
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In summary, a breast cancer diagnosis can be overwhelming. It’s essential to seek trustworthy medical advice, embrace emotional vulnerability, and allow yourself to feel the full range of emotions. Surround yourself with supportive individuals and remember that it’s okay to ask for help. You will find joy again, and your journey will lead to unexpected kindness and strength.