I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer in the middle of the pandemic. Super crummy timing, although any serious diagnosis seems like it comes at the worst time.
Even though that was awful to go through, so many positive things came from it and still do.
One was that I reconnected with an old high school friend, we also went to college together and were roommates our freshman year. Our reconnection was actually really unfortunate because she had also been diagnosed with cancer a few months after me. Even though we had different types and stages, we shared the same side effects from chemo and general disbelief this was happening. Two young mothers, still working and taking care of kids, going through chemo together. When in reality we should have been enjoying raising our children, having late-night chats with our loving husbands, and spending those extra evening hours scrolling through social media — NOT worrying if the chemo was going to work and if we’d get to watch our children grow up.
We checked in on each other over the passing months, which turned into years. We posted bald pics of ourselves, to remind us that we were beautiful even without hair.
We encouraged each other, we cried, we laughed, and we smiled. We had surgeries, we had work events, we had radiation, and we had birthday parties. We had scans, we had labs, and we had appointment after appointment. We were both living with cancer.
Then things changed; my chemo worked. We drifted apart, mostly because my life was going back to normal. I struggled with maintaining my cancer buddy relationships because I wanted to move on. My mental health was weak and I needed to cocoon.
But her treatment continued. It changed; it got harder. She still fought, until it stopped working. She made the brave choice to stop treatment and finish her life the way she wanted.
Other high school friends had also reached out to me because of this. This is a great time to explain that I went to one of the best-performing arts high schools in the country: Baltimore School for the Arts. I love my life now but would go back to those years in a heartbeat. I was a white, privileged girl attending an extremely diverse, inner-city school in Baltimore — talk about a culture shock and a huge blessing. Those years shaped who I am today and I am forever grateful to those students and teachers who taught me about racism and privilege just by walking through my teen years with them.
So now here we are, and I have new adult relationships with people I haven’t spoken to in 20 years. We are all different, but we grasp onto the memories and hold them tight as we reminisce about our friend. We all say how kind she was, how sweet and loving. She was talented, warm, and gentle. But she died too young.
So now I am more afraid of not living than I am of dying. I am afraid that if I don’t move forward and continue to do the work I am doing in my field, then my life will have been wasted. I am inspired by my friend’s death, and promise to always look forward with strength, courage, and wisdom (thank you India Arie), and will always look back with love.
