Aloneness in Breast Cancer

I feel so much more alone in the world without my mom—never expected that. It’s not like we were close for very many years of my life—just the first ten and the last ten. But there’s something unnameable about family ties. They are mysterious metaphysical things.

The same kind of metaphysical connection exists between me and my breast cancer squad. I don’t know where I’d be right now without them. We don’t even talk about breast cancer or our bodies that much any more, but we’ve been through the same gripping fears, the same unknowns, the same kinds of aloneness.

I felt the breast cancer aloneness again this month when I went in for a follow up MRI in a new imaging center. I think I’ve officially been to every single imaging center in my hospital’s system now, as a patient. There are six. When you go into that tube and brace for the “buzz-bzit-baaat”, there is no way to not feel alone. They ask you what kind of music you’d like, and you realize that the show is JUST for you. It’s all about you, and you wish it weren’t.

I imagine it’s the same for my friends who have metastatic cancer. They have many layers of aloneness and so many places within hospitals, imaging centers and treatment centers that are reminders of it. Their community of fellow patients is even more important… and precarious.

Today my friend texted to say that her friend was in a bad space after mastectomy—she was dreading taking that first shower—it was too much fear and anxiety. She texted back later to say that her friend actually ended up enjoying the shower. I remember that. It’s always a surprise. You can’t know what to expect. The body responds so differently than how we think it will. Our emotions do too. At these times, we are most tempted to disassociate as a way to deal with our fear and powerlessness. But if we manage not to, we can come out having experienced some beauty and relief. That friend stepped into the shower with openness and she felt the relief of the water, the relief of her nerves still sensing temperature, the relief of knowing she’s still her, even though she’s been through one of the most dehumanzing and lonely traumas that she can imagine.

The next step is refusing to stay alone. Finding the community of survivors who get you. It’s like finding a therapist—not always easy, but oh so important.