There are at least two million women living with breast cancer in the United States, and every one of them has a story to tell. Those who share their journeys on the Internet let us walk, for a moment, in the shoes of a survivor. I’m amazed at the grace these women exhibit under pressure, and I wonder, Where does that grace come from at a time like this?
For Kelly Corrigan, who describes her overall cancer experience as “extremely positive,” it came from the emotional connections she discovered over the course of eight cycles of chemotherapy, a lumpectomy, and two months of radiation for stage III HER2-positive breast cancer—the fast-growing kind.
“There are certain conversations and intimacies that can only happen in the space around a crisis,” explains the California mother of two who was diagnosed in 2004. “If someone is going to have cancer, I want them to get the good part, too—support, tenderness, and kindness.” So Corrigan created circusofcancer.org, a website that helps friends and family understand the life and emotions of someone with cancer. Her site takes you through a moving photo essay of her yearlong treatment, and offers insights on what to say to someone newly diagnosed.
Connecticut mother of three Karen Lynch, who writes for pinkribbonreview.com, appears to have survived breast cancer with her sense of humor intact. Through two bouts with the disease, a double mastectomy, and a TRAM flap reconstruction, she has blogged about everything from breast nicknames (she dubbed her perky reconstructed duo “Barbie breasts” because they have no nipples) to tricks for keeping cancer anxiety from rubbing off on your kids. Karen is frank about how her body image has evolved: “What matters is that I’m here. My body is just my body.”
That kind of gratitude, understandably, is a theme among survivors. “Every time one of my kids has a milestone (big or small) I find myself whispering to God, ‘Thanks for letting me be here,’” blogs Jayne England Byrne, a North Carolina mother who was diagnosed with stage I invasive lobular breast cancer in 2006.
Jayne deals candidly with the physical and emotional repercussions of cancer treatment on her blog—from the hit her bone density took during treatment to how “stupid” her hair looked after chemo.
I’m also a regular reader of Lisa’s Breast Cancer Journey. Lisa is a single Canadian mom who started blogging in April after a breast cancer diagnosis; she has kept it up through a double mastectomy, reconstruction, and her “chemo graduation” (see picture above) in August. She gives an excruciatingly honest picture of the fits and starts of treatment, the good days and the nauseating ones, and the humanity of the people who treated her (including a nurse who ate smelly crackers while checking Lisa’s post-surgery vitals).
Lisa recently announced that she is moving into a new house. I feel so close to her I’m tempted to send a housewarming present. But Lisa—like the other survivors who seem to have hearts of gold and the strength of steel—would probably say she has all the gifts she needs.
If you know someone like Lisa, Jayne, Karen, or Kelly, please forward this post and ask her to share her story here. Or tell us about the breast cancer blogs that move you.
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