Dear Lisa,
A little over a year ago, you received the life-altering news of your breast cancer diagnosis. While it may sound cliché, “life-changing” is the only phrase that encapsulates the enormity of this experience.
I want to express my sincerest apologies for the delay in sharing my thoughts. Writing has always been my way of processing emotions and seeking clarity in chaotic situations, yet since your diagnosis, I’ve found it difficult to put pen to paper. The narrative of your journey is yours alone to tell, and I have been hesitant to intrude into a story that is not mine.
When you received your diagnosis, your world turned upside down, and ours did too. Those who love you were suddenly navigating an unfamiliar landscape. Though we’ve been friends for over 30 years and have faced our share of challenges, none have been as daunting as this.
Naturally, when you first revealed the possibility of cancer, my mind raced with medical questions: What stage are you in? What does the prognosis look like? When will treatment begin? There were practical inquiries as well: What do you need? How can I help? But amid these questions lingered a weighty silence, filled with the unspoken worries about how this would change our friendship. Would I be the friend you needed, or would I fall short? Most importantly, would you be OK—truly OK, like living to a ripe old age?
The heaviest questions were yours to bear. You voiced your concerns about seeking a second opinion and whether to opt for a single or double mastectomy. You even wondered about the etiquette surrounding cancer gifts—should you send a thank-you note right away? (The answer was a resounding no; you had a free pass.) And, perhaps the hardest question of all: Is this really happening to me?
Despite the physical distance between us, we stayed connected through daily texts, sometimes even hourly. I raged alongside you, asked questions, and sent messages of love or outrage against cancer. Our phone conversations were filled with tears, laughter, and the new vocabulary of your journey—words like port and chemotherapy.
When I visited during your first round of treatment, you asked if I wanted to see the effects of chemotherapy. Without hesitating, I said yes, and we sneaked into your closet to share that moment. You looked worn but still exuded an incredible strength and beauty, almost like a superhero battling her greatest foe. Months later, just before your reconstruction surgery, we found ourselves in a restaurant bathroom, giggling as you lifted your shirt to show me your progress. You no longer appeared beaten; you looked empowered and stunning.
Since your diagnosis, I have grappled with the appropriateness of discussing my own trivial concerns. Do I have the right to complain about daily stresses? Is it fair to ask for your fashion advice when my concerns seem so minuscule compared to your battle? I often questioned the importance of my worries in the grand scheme of things.
I’ve learned so much in this past year. I’ve realized that laughter, shared silence, and even a string of expletives can sometimes bring more comfort than the often-repeated phrase, “everything happens for a reason.” I now understand the difference between a port and a drain and how a woman’s self-image can be shaped by society as well as her own inner strength.
Perhaps most importantly, I’ve come to understand that I shouldn’t shy away from questions, nor should I fear the uncertainty that lies within them. I promise to ask my questions, listen to yours, and navigate this journey together—not necessarily to find answers, but to show up, offer love, and bear witness to each other’s experiences. It’s through the questions we learn, grow, and ultimately live.
So, here’s one last question for you: Can this experience make us stronger and lead to positive change? How can we create something beautiful from this? I believe we are already in the process of crafting something extraordinary.
In the spirit of ongoing support, I encourage you to explore resources that can enrich your journey, such as this blog post about home insemination, or this article that discusses fertility boosters. Additionally, CCRM IVF’s blog is an excellent source for information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In closing, thank you for allowing me to be part of your journey. I am here, always.
Summary
In this heartfelt letter, a friend reflects on the impact of a cancer diagnosis on their long-standing relationship. The author navigates their own emotions, the challenges faced, and the strength found in vulnerability and connection. They express a commitment to support and love, while also questioning how this experience can lead to growth and beauty in their friendship.