I read an interesting article on the site, The Mighty last week and the writer’s thoughts have been whirling through my brain ever since. He spoke of the support he received during the surgery and treatment phase of his cancer and then the sudden loss of support once he had finished. It evoked memories of my own experiences at the end of treatment. My once a week connection with those who knew the most about my cancer was over. It was as though the world said, “This is done. Now go on with your life.” I mean, that sounds good in theory. Ring the chemo bell. Be free. Live happy.

The author’s truth is that he did not experience that. Instead, he wrote of the intense loneliness that settled within him. My truth is that I never got to ring the chemo bell and be free. This may be due to the aggressive nature of the breast cancer I have. Or not. I must be aware of my body because I am the front line defense against cancer taking a foothold. I have to surveil my body for the symptoms that tell my oncologist something needs to be scanned or treated. Doing this has saved my life. But it is difficult for the people in my life to see that the journey with cancer has not ended.

I get that people don’t want to think about my journey with cancer. It is hard to think about the physical pain associated with all my body has endured. It is hard to think about the anxiety that is a part of this journey with cancer. But here is my truth… I experience physical pain every single day. Some of it is caused by the normal process of aging. But much of it is a consequence of the multiple cancer surgeries and chemotherapy treatments. The pain is a graphic reminder of the reality that I am a cancer patient, which triggers the fears that go with that cancer reality. What is ahead for me? Is there more surgery? Is there more treatment? When will my death come? Will it be when I feel like I have accomplished my purpose on earth or will death take me too soon? How will Brandi and my daughters cope? And every single day, I take a deep breath and move toward acceptance. Every single day, gently and with self compassion, I turn toward being mindful of this moment. Every single day, I lean into gratitude for the reality that I have this day. This is the work of cancer that only I can do and it is an internal, solitary process. Brandi can’t do it, my friends, my family, my health team, they can’t do it either. If they could, I might try to delegate the task. And so, despite all the love that is showered on me, the truth is sometimes I feel lonely with this cancer journey. And even having shared this with you, my dear readers, does not take away my loneliness. For I know that tomorrow morning while your Keurig is brewing, your children and/or pets are being fed, and the day’s to-do list is whirling in your mind, I will be doing the work. Of acceptance, of mindfulness, and of gratitude.

I don’t write this post in an effort to get the sympathy of those who read it. I write this post directly to those cancer patients that trudge this solitary journey every single day. I write to those who wonder, “what is wrong with me?” that they have not gotten a handle on this whole cancer thing. I want you to know this not about you. It is about the process of having been through something traumatic, challenging, potentially life-ending, and yet potentially life-enhancing. It is about dancing with the fear and not becoming intimate partners. It is about honoring yourself and your truth. I am here to tell you that you may be going it alone, but you are not alone. We are all connected in the spirit of this journey of cancer. And in the spirit of life.