My Cancer Survivor Story: Finding Relief in Sadness

Being diagnosed with a scary thing like bone cancer as an adolescent can only be described in words like “tough” and “backbreaking.” There are things that I wasn't able to experience like any normal teenager would.

My parents found out I had osteosarcoma in my left leg a week before I was told. I kind of remember when they were told. I remember the doctor took them out of the room and, of course, I was distracted. I was busy talking about Harry Styles with the child life specialist.

'Don't cry'

We had another doctor’s appointment the next week. That's when I was told. I remember there were a few moments of silence where my parents and doctor were waiting for my reaction. I'd like to think that I kept a blank face or at least one that they couldn't read. In my mind, I was repeating the mantra, "Don't cry.”

I thought maybe if I seemed strong in front of everyone, then maybe I would start to believe I was strong. As my eyes glazed over with tears, I took a deep breath and asked the doctor what the next steps were. Now thinking back, my voice was probably shaky as well as the rest of my body. Again and again, I repeated inside of my head, "Don't cry."

My travel softball coach of four-and-a-half years called me on the way home in the car. Having to tell her that I couldn't play softball broke the both of us. In that moment, I didn't care that I had broken my mask.

Mac and cheese remedy

During my first couple of rounds of chemo, I couldn't eat anything without puking it back up in 10 minutes. I earned the name "Up-Chuck" from my dad. We tried endless solutions for a little while. Aromatherapy? Never again. Ginger root is not a calming smell. I'll tell you that for free.

We finally found a solution that wasn't sticking orange peels in my nose to hide the smell. It was mac and cheese. Not the gross “hospital food” mac and cheese. It was the mac and cheese in the nurse's break room. I ate it so often that my parents banned me from mac and cheese. However, every time my parents went out, the nurses would sneak me a bowl or cup of some. Even when they were tired and almost done with their shift, they would oblige me every time that I asked. I never got tired of mac and cheese.

Dealing with social anxiety

Well into my chemo treatments, I wouldn't go anywhere except to the hospital. That's all I knew. I wouldn't go to the park or even outside. I developed social anxiety. It's gotten better now, but dealing with panic attacks was an ongoing situation for a little while.

Going out now is easier because I'm older and with my friends. I'm also off of crutches and treatments so it's a lot easier. Before it was all "No I can't. I've got treatments,” or "Sorry, I can't.” I didn't even have to say the reason and my friends would just understand. I am so glad for all of them because they stood with me through everything even if I distanced myself from everyone.

Losing my hair

It was a trend to dye the 2 front strips of your hair another color. I dyed my hair orange. I only had it for a little less than a year before the diagnosis. The doctors gave me some hope, saying that since my hair was so thick, I might not lose all of it. That was not the case.

After the first round, my hair slowly fell out in big chunks. I asked my mom to help me dye the 2 front strips a different color for the heck of it. We dyed it a really vibrant red. The song that was playing while we were dying my hair was "Sign of The Times”' by Harry Styles. It unfortunately is a sad song. The first line is literally: "Just stop your crying. It's a sign of the times.”

Mind you, this was when my mom found out my hair was falling out in clumps, and I just asked her to put a bunch of chemicals in it. She asked me to skip the song. We shaved my head 2 days later. I didn't cry while it was getting shaved. I went around in the house proud of it. The next day, I think it hit me. I always wore a hoodie or a hat – even to bed.

After limb-sparing surgery

My left leg took the biggest hit because that's where the main tumor was. After the big surgery to remove the tumor, I wasn't able to get a good look at my leg because of the bandages and wrapping around it. We had an appointment to take out stitches and staples. When the nurses took off all the bandages, I cried. My leg was so skinny and bloody. It didn't look like me at all. I didn't recognize it.

Having cancer at such a young age altered many things about me: My thoughts, my strength, my personality, and even my body. Writing and thinking back on it now, it still weighs on me. I could only think of the way I'd look in clothing. Even now, some days I'm thinking: “Should I wear these leggings? People might be able to see the way my leg looks through them. Or maybe I'll just wear shorts at home even though it's hot. I don't want people to see my scar.”

I struggle with the way I feel about simple things like this because I used to wear whatever I wanted without a second thought.

Cancer is an incomparable thing. The endless surgeries, the endless waiting for results only for them to turn out the opposite of what you want. It's all endless because I'm looking behind my back at every moment. I wish people knew how simple things can be so difficult.

Going out in front of people for the first time in months.

Walking through the fairgrounds for hours.

Walking for hours.

Wearing shorts.

All these things were such big steps for me to take. Yet in all this sadness, I found relief. Relief for realizing I'm much stronger than I thought. Relief in being able to see the world from a new perspective. Now, I try to appreciate the small accomplishments.

To someone who has just been recently diagnosed, don't let people say that you could have it worse. People have it better too. So, complain all you want. You're allowed to.