Let's Talk About Cancer...

The day I found out that I have cancer, I only intended on telling Dan, partly because I had to go to work and I didn’t have time but mostly because I needed time to process. The next day I told my mom, dad and brothers. My dad is a surgeon and took the news as I expected. He was calm, collected, reassuring. He gave me advice on what I should do next. He has always been the rock in our family. I expected my mom to be emotional and upset. But she took the news better than I thought. She was understanding and encouraging. She then told me about all the things that she was going to send me to help me feel better. The week after, I received huge boxes of organic vitamins and noni juice. She has always been the caretaker of our family.

After I told my immediate family, I knew I had many other people to tell. But how do you tell someone that you have cancer? Do you just say it? Do you lead up to it? Do you have small talk beforehand? I have no idea!! I called a few of my best friends and told them on the phone. Each of them reacted differently. My medical school and residency friends often reacted with medical questions and making sure I was getting all the tests and consults I needed. Some of them got me in touch with their friends who were breast oncologist or surgeons so I could run things by them. The medical discussions were hard because I didn’t know the answers to some of the questions they had yet. Sometimes they brought up topics I hadn’t even thought of and then I freaked out because I didn’t know the answers. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful they brought things up because otherwise I wouldn’t know! I told a few of my best friends in LA in person over lunch. This was hard because we were in a public place and I started to cry before I could get the words out and then they started to cry because they got scared. It was not ideal but that’s how it happened. By this point in time, I had re-told the story over 10 times. How I felt the lump, how I was diagnosed, how advanced my cancer was, what the next steps will entail. Needless to say, I was exhausted. I was tired of re-living the moment I found out. I was tired of talking about the procedures I will get and the chemo. I was tired of feeling the same feelings over and over again each time. And this is not anyone’s fault. I wanted to tell all these people who are important to me. I wanted them to know. And I wanted them to feel like I answered all their questions to ease their concerns. Heck, if my best friend told me she had cancer, I expect her to tell me everything from the beginning to the end. I expect her to keep me updated with EVERYTHING along the way. So I get it, and I appreciate that so many people care.

In the end I had to send mass texts to groups of friends to let them know about the cancer. I did this with my middle/high school/college friends and my work friends. I ended up emailing most of my co-workers because there was no way I was going to be able to tell 50+ people at work individually. I felt bad that I couldn’t talk to everyone I cared about individually because I think everyone deserves their friend telling them this kind of news in person and a long conversation answering all questions. So if you are reading this, I’m sorry if I couldn’t fulfill this for you. It’s not because you don’t mean a lot to me. I was just damn too tired. So please excuse me. Well, I have cancer, so you have to forgive me!

After the mass texts, people responded in different ways. I got calls, texts, emails, letters, flowers, care packages, meals… you name it, I got it. And for this, I am forever grateful.

I was scared of having to tell my boss. At that time I didn’t know why. It’s not like I could get fired for having cancer. I know my boss. He wouldn’t be mad or upset. So why was I so nervous? To be honest, I think it was because telling work made it official. I was going to need time off to take care of this. I had been in training to become a physician for 13 years. I have been practicing as an attending for 4.5 years. That’s 17.5 years or exactly half of my life dedicated to becoming a physician. And now, for the next many months, that identity was about to be stripped away from me. I felt like I was losing myself. I told my boss over the phone. I tried not to cry but I did. He was supportive and understanding as I expected him to be. He reassured me that my job would be safe and ready to accept me back whenever I was ready. I hung up and cried some more because at that moment, I felt like I was no longer a doctor. I became a patient.