“Hi. My name is Susan; my life is flawed, fucked up, fashionable (yoga pants are still in fashion, right?) and totally fantastic!”
Ten years ago I wouldn’t have pictured my life this way. At 22 I was planning my wedding. It was the dawn of an innocent life of health and bliss ahead. But fate has a way of testing the boundaries of our limitations; it will bring you crashing to your knees under the weight of heavy expectations.
The past four years threw me down a different path. Short version: Divorce, moved across the country to a state where I knew no one, and I got breast cancer. This all happened before I turned 30. I hit the jackpot at life!
Although I’m on the opposite spectrum of what I imagined my life would be, I love it. A lot has changed. Yet, I am more “me” than I have ever felt.
In the past two years I’ve had seven major surgeries, six rounds of chemo, seven nights in a hospital, three MRIs, two PET scans, one round of IVF, and a bazillion needle sticks. I have had so many doctors’ appointments and tests that I’ve lost count.
My life as a young cancer survivor looks very different from my friends and colleagues with whom I grew up. Most of them are married, living in a mini-mansion in suburbia with enough kids to field a soccer team. Sure, I get a little twitch of jealousy every now and then, but I have something different and priceless — an invisible coat of armor that I bought during my non-discretionary vacation in Hell. It’s my most fabulous accessory. I wear it daily as a reminder that life is not perfect, which is the most amazing thing about it.
My life is spontaneous. It’s fun, scary, slightly out of control, slightly off color, and weird — all shaken up into a bright pink vodka martini.
I realize now that I don’t want to be the girl living in suburban utopia driving a Range Rover up the yellow brick road. Not that there’s anything wrong with it; it sounds fabulous. But it’s just not where fate led me. Occasionally that twitch does provoke me to indulge my curiosity into what my female peers are up to these days. I click through their social media posts and stare at the computer screen, as if I’m seeing it all through a telescope looking at Earth from my spaceship orbiting Mars. Smiling newborn babies. Sparkling wedding gowns. Clinking glasses of rosé on the beaches of Tulum. New luxury sports cars. Gleaming marble kitchens with glowing vintage Edison lights. It is all so far away.
Social media reminds us of everything we aren’t, because social media is not who we truly are. It’s like in elementary school when we had to make a collage of our life for show-and-tell day, and pasted all of our favorite photos on a giant piece of neon poster board. We want to show off only the best and most beautiful pieces of our lives and frame it with glitter puffy paint.
I think my purpose is to show the world the flawed pieces of my life. I want to show people that I got breast cancer when I was 30 years old, and I am living an imperfect, yet awesome, life.
When I was first diagnosed, I felt alone and betrayed by my body. I wondered if I was going to die. I wondered why nobody else my age got cancer. I did not know a single other person who had experienced this, and that unknown was terrifying, like a menacing smile in the dark. I’m here to scare the boogey-man away and tell you that you’re going to be fine. You’re going to be better than fine, because I’m making you one of those super awesome coats of invisible armor to wear. (Pants cost extra.)
This article was first published at breastcancer-news.com and written by me. Duh.
So grab your wig and follow me. We’re taking a road trip down to Hell and back. And I promise you that you’ll come out HOT AS FUCK!