To the Young Ones
Letters to my patients, day 5
Adulthood was supposed to look different.
You spend those early years of life wanting to grow up, to gain autonomy and freedom. This comes slowly, too slowly. You thought about, dreamed about, and talked about your life as an adult. Throughout this journey, though you didn’t recognize it, your dreams were solidifying expectations for your future.
But that’s the problem with expectations, they are fragile.
And your expectations were shattered with one word — cancer.
You’re caught in a whirlwind of doctor’s visits, blood work, lab tests, scans and appointments — when you were barely old enough to feel the need for an annual checkup. This was supposed to be the prime of your life, right? People in their 20’s travel the world, climb the career ladder to success, start small businesses and learn from trial and error, get married, have kids, buy a pet, buy a home (or just a pet, because we all know where the housing prices are). People in their 20’s don’t get cancer.
Conceptually we know that is not true, but personally we feel invincible. It would never happen to me.
So we continue to build our crystal palaces of dreams. We live as though there are 60 years stretched before us, to be lived out any way we wish. And when the wrecking ball that is cancer plows into our lives, the sharp edges of broken crystal cut deep.
I know you don’t feel anything right now, it is all so new. You are numb. I see you sitting there in clinic, the furthest chair from the doctor, elbows on your knees, head in your hands. Your mom accompanied you to the visit but there were only 2 chairs, one for you and one for your wife, so mom sits on the exam table. Surreal for all involved. Mom is spewing questions, some helpful, some anxious, all realistic. Your eyes gloss over and I know you will retain very little from this visit.
Don’t worry, we’ll repeat ourselves. And when you awake from this daze, you can ask all the questions you need to.
The crystal shards cut deep into your heart and that is the pain you will begin to feel first. You will be overwhelmed with foreign thoughts, fears, and new triggers — grief shows up under the disguise of many emotions.
It is okay to grieve the life that will never be.
No matter what stage, how curable, or what age you are — it will never be the same. For better or worse, your life is changed.
Even if surgery is done and no further treatment is needed, your surgical incisions heal and scans are clear for seven years, you will find yourself overcome with tears on a random Tuesday afternoon while sitting in your daughter’s ballet recital. The hope, the expectation, that you would have kids by age 25 was pushed aside while you dealt with cancer instead. You had long ago come to terms with being a member of the “older parents” club, but when you saw that young mom today, grief reared its ugly head yet again. Your heart bleeds a few tears, you take a deep breath, and run to hug your twirling ballerina. You can still love the life you have, while recognizing that the road you travelled to get here was not always kind or fair.
This is a theme that transcends age, even going beyond a cancer diagnosis. We all have broken dreams, unreached goals, shattered expectations for different reasons.
But for you, it is cancer and cancer is a thief.
Be angry at the cancer, furious at what it has taken. But please, do not suppress this anger or internalize it. Feel it, allow it to be part of your journey, and then release it when you are ready. Allow yourself to travel the path toward healing — physically and emotionally. Lean into your support team or create one. Go to counseling, even if short term. Join the support groups, even just as an observer. Voice your fears — the act of speaking them aloud can lessen their weight. Share the burden with a willing set of shoulders. You do not have to do this alone (read this if it feels like there is nobody to help).
I am sorry for your expectations that may never come to fruition. It is not fair. But the good thing about expectations is their adaptability. You will find a way forward, no matter how different it looks.
When cancer has wreaked havoc on your dreams, take what you need:
It is okay to be mad at cancer. I did not deserve this.
I can grieve the loss of my expectations.
I will release my anger and not allow it to harden in my heart.
I can ask for help, no matter how “young and capable” I am.
It is okay to be sad. Grief takes the form of many emotions.
I will find a way forward in life, even if it looks different than what I expected.
Thank you for being here,
PS. A book recommendation from
: Loss of Dreams by Ted Bowman. It is on my list and comes highly recommended.This is part of a 31-day series of letters to my patients — those undergoing a work-up, diagnosis, or treatment for cancer. Topics are also focused on those caregiving and supporting individuals affected by cancer. This is not an easy journey, but you do not have to do it alone.
This is not medical advice — please consult your healthcare team for individual medical expertise.
Let me know what topics you hope to see this month! I have many of the days/topics filled, but not all of them. I would love to hear your thoughts, experiences, or questions.
Connect more!
Instagram: Cancer Compass