Putting Down the Warrior Mask
When I was in college, my sister had a friend who’s mom had cancer. I remember going with my family to the friend’s open house after their high school graduation. Their house had a really pretty garden in the front yard with lots of flowers and was full of life. I remember seeing this woman enjoying the garden and the flowers. She was really sick. But she still had the biggest, warmest, most welcoming smile on her face. Despite her courage, cancer still took her life.
I come from a family of cancer warriors and survivors. My grandmother had breast cancer in her 40’s. My aunt also had breast cancer in her 40’s. A couple of years later, she had cancer again for the second time. My mom had breast cancer in her 40’s. To prevent a second occurrence, she had a double mastectomy. Then, in her 80’s my grandmother also had cancer for the second time before she passed away.
When Nick and I got married, we knew that cancer was going to be a part of our life, but we kept on living. Nick and I started trying to have a family in December of 2019. After 5 and half years of trying in May of 2025, we learned that I have endometrial cancer. I was completely devastated. When I heard the word cancer, I remember my sister’s friend’s mom on oxygen. I remember my own mom and the suffering she went through with chemo. I heard the word cancer, and I panicked. What is going to happen to me?
It was so hard to tell my parents that I had cancer. I remember when my parents answered the phone. “Are you pregnant?” my dad shouted. No. No, I wasn’t pregnant. I had cancer. The mood quickly shifted on the other end of the call from anticipation to sadness. There were many tears on that call. But I remember my mother encouraging me and reminding me of our family history. “You come from a family of warriors,” she told me. “You are going to beat this.”
Warriors. That is the stigma that we carry as people with cancer. We are supposed to be warriors. We are supposed to be brave. We are supposed to be fearless. We are meant to keep a smile on our faces, even while we are in pain, even while our hair falls out or we experience side effects from our medication.
A quick google search of the definition of warrior says “A warrior is a person who fights in battles or has great skill and experience in warfare.” Literal translations include “fighter: A soldier or combatant who takes part in physical conflict,” “defender: Historically, a protector of a tribe, clan, or nation,” and “expert: Someone who specialized in training and high skill in using weapons or martial arts (such as a samurai or knight).”
I am not skilled in using weapons or martial arts. I am not fighting a battle against other people in a war. But in a way, I am fighting a battle within my own body. My own cells are mutating and attacking me. If left untreated or if I don’t fight back, they will threaten my life.
Figurative meanings provided by google include a “determined person: Someone who shows deep courage, strength, and resilience during a hard time in life, such as illness or athletic competition,” and “advocate: A person who works hard to support a social, political, or philosophical cause.”
Facing cancer does make one determined. We do need to have courage, strength, and resilience. Some of us who face cancer even go on to fundraise for cancer research and advocate for more research to be done. Warrior is the title those of us facing cancer are expected to live up to. These are not just characteristics needed to face cancer. These are characteristics placed on us and pressured on us by society.
After I initially got my cancer diagnosis, I was referred to a gynecologist oncologist. She ordered a chest x-ray, a CT scan, and an MRI. The chest x-ray and CT scan were clear, however the MRI was not. The MRI showed the cancer growing in my myometrium, or uterine wall. It was about 28% of the way through my muscle tissue. If it made it all of the way through, it would have the ability to spread to my neighboring organs and ovaries.
Standard practice when cancer is in the wall like this is to perform a hysterectomy. However, the doctor said more and more people have been pushing the envelope and trying to treat the cancer anyways. She knew that Nick and I wanted to have a family so she gave us the option. In a short amount of time, we had to choose to either have a hysterectomy or treat the cancer with no guarantee that treatment would work. There is no evidence to support that treatment would work at this stage. There was the risk that things could get worse or stay the same.
Nick and I prayed and prayed for God to give us clear direction. We talked about it at length. We cried. After a lot of consideration, prayer, and wise counsel, we decided to treat the cancer. We didn’t know what was ahead for us, but we did know we chose the more difficult path. We had to gear up for the fight against cancer.
That was the beginning of my long battle with cancer. I think of every time I needed to go in for an MRI or every surgery I had in the last year and a half. I had to be brave. I also think of all of the periods of waiting. I think of waiting for test or scan results, knowing the results could show bad news. I kept a brave face, put on a smile, kept working, and kept living. So many people encouraged me, “just stay positive!”
I also remember after getting my diagnosis that I reached out to mine and Nick’s online church we attend, Lux Digital Church. I really needed someone to talk to as I processed the news and made decisions. They connected me with one of the church counselors who listened to my fears and questions. As we talked, she made a statement that stuck with me. “People with cancer are expected to be warriors, but often people forget that there is so much grief.”
I have picked up my sword and shield and faced the dragon. I have battled cancer. But in that battle, there has also been a lot of grief. I grieve the dream I had for my life. I had hoped to have a family by now. Maybe we’d have a little one going into preschool or kindergarten by now. We would have had at least a couple of kids. Our goal was two for sure! (More if I could talk Nick into it!)
I grieve all of the time spent waiting and trying only to have everything halted by cancer. I think of all of the negative pregnancy tests. I think of all of the doctors who promised to help me, only for nothing to change. I spent so much time doing my own research. I tried different diets. I tried different workouts. Still nothing. Was all of my effort for nothing?
Cancer is so painful. I have said it before, and I will say it again- I am so, so thankful that I didn’t have to go through chemo. However, I have still had to endure a lot of physical pain. Biopsies are painful. The IUD causes constant, daily pain that disrupts my work and normal routine. Hormone therapy affects my mood, my boy, and even my relationship with my spouse.
There is also the emotional pain and turmoil of infertility. Cancer only increases my fear that I may never have children. The number of friends I have without children are dwindling as they all start to have their own children. Of course, life for them is different and they are not as available to spend time with us. The friends we do have without children are getting younger and younger as I continue to grow older. I grieve the loneliness I feel. I am jealous of the ladies who go to moms groups and mom hang outs. Even with children, these women find community. Infertility is so lonely.
I grieve the picture I had of telling my parents I’m pregnant. You know, the normal way. Not the “hey, I have cancer and we have to have a baby quick” way. I wanted to surprise them and experience the excitement with them. There will still be plenty of excitement, assuming God allows me to have a baby after all of this. But there will be less surprise and more anxiety.
Then there is the thought of “what if I go through all of this cancer treatment, and I don’t have a baby in the end?” That makes me so sad to think about. Sure, I could adopt or foster, but I would never be able to carry my own baby. I wouldn’t get to have all of the experiences that come with pregnancy. I wouldn’t get to breast feed and bond with a child that shares my genes. I look at Nick’s beautiful eyes and feel sad at the thought that we might not be able to pass on his pretty eyes to our child. After everything I’ve gone through, that is hard to think about.
Nick reached out to my mom after I got my diagnosis. Since she had cancer, he was looking for advice on how to be a good husband to me and how to best support me. Being a cancer survivor, she warned him that I would cry a lot. She wasn’t joking! I cried all of the time. I cried as I processed the fact that I have cancer. I cried from being in pain. I cried from thoughts about the future. I also cried often for no reason at all. A year and half after my cancer diagnosis, I still cry often. It is still hard to go through. There is so much grief with cancer.
Dear fellow cancer warriors, it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to remove the mask. You don’t have to smile all of the time. Crying is allowed. Even in the middle of a war, the warrior is still surrounded by destruction and death. It’s okay if you’re not wanting surgery again. It’s okay that you’re tired of chemo. It’s okay to feel upset by your hopes and dreams being put at risk. It’s okay to not be in a good mood when your body feels sick.
On the flip side, don’t give up. Yes, take time to grieve, but stay resilient. Stay brave. But put on a smile because you want to, not because you have to. Dear society, I beckon you to come alongside your loved ones with cancer. “Just stay positive,” while well meaning, is not always helpful advice. My sister’s friend’s mom had a smile on her face, but cancer still took her. Being positive is a good thing, but what we really need is support. What we need is a hug or someone to just sit with us in the waiting.
If you read my blog posts about grief (Dear Cancer I love you; Dear Cancer how dare you; Dear Cancer, here’s what you’re going to miss), you know that I’m a big fan of Dr. John Delony. One thing I have heard him say over and over is that “grief demands a witness.” We need someone with us. The best way to help us prepare for battle and to stay resilient is to be a support.
For me, love and support from my family and friends has been what keeps me going. People sending over meals, going with me to appointments, sending money and gift cards for lunch, praying with us… all of these gestures have meant the world. I treasure the cards I have gotten from friends and family. I appreciate hugs and listening ears. So, I guess what I’m saying is that grief and being a warrior goes hand in hand. By supporting cancer warriors through the grief, we are empowered to face our illness, our fears, and the unknown.
Despite my grief, I am also staying positive as I look forward to the next phase in our journey. We’d love your continued support in this fight and on this journey. In most states, insurance companies are not required to cover fertility treatment. Our next part of our journey will have to be paid for out of pocket! A round of IVF for example can cost $15,000 to $20,000! Thankfully, my sweet sister-in-law started a GoFundMe campaign for us to help with medical bills and fertility treatments. Follow me on social media and check out future blog posts as I share my story. Breast cancer seems to get all the attention in the media. But not all cancer is pink! My aim is to share my story and bring awareness beyond the pink ribbon.
