Beyond the Diagnosis: Navigating the Mental and Emotional Journey of Cancer – A Multi-Part Series
I’m going to write about the emotional and mental health side of this journey in separate parts. There is so much to share. Mostly everything I have read focuses on the physical aspects of cancer, but few talk about the mental toll it takes on the person and their families. This will be my attempt to share and help others navigate the emotional challenges of cancer.
A few weeks before the diagnosis, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn’t eat or sleep and was scared for my girls. I was devastated that their world would be turned upside down. Before the biopsy, my mammogram had me at a BIRADS 5, which means the likelihood that it’s cancer is high. The biopsy confirmed what my mammogram was already suggesting—but also determined the type of breast cancer I had, which would help in planning treatment. My intuition already knew. Those few weeks leading up to the diagnosis were the hardest.
I found myself seeking solitude, taking long baths where I could cry without my daughters suspecting anything. I would binge social media accounts from other cancer warriors, desperately trying to understand what was ahead. The fear was all-consuming.
Dave and I decided not to say anything to the girls or family until we had a confirmed diagnosis. I needed space to process. I shared my worries with one friend, who had just finished her own treatments for breast cancer. Her experience helped me prepare for the questions I’d need to ask my doctors, and her husband supported Dave in understanding how best to help me and our daughters.
By the time the official call came, I was as prepared as I could be. What I wasn’t prepared for was hearing the words “triple-negative breast cancer.” One quick Google search told me just how aggressive this type of cancer is, and that immediate treatment would be necessary.
That was a Friday. The following week began a whirlwind of appointments: blood work, bone scans, and meeting my oncologist. She handed me a stack of information about the drugs and their potential side effects—some of which were life-threatening. It was so overwhelming that I think I went on autopilot. What choice did I have? I had to fight. Ten days after my diagnosis, I started chemotherapy treatment.
To add to the chaos, my youngest daughter had a sledding accident the day before my biopsy results came in. Dave and I took the call for the results while trying to manage the chaos of everyday life. Within 30 minutes of hearing the news, we sat down with our girls and had the hardest conversation of our lives.
I’m crying as I write this. Telling them that their mom had cancer shattered the innocence of their childhood, and I was angry that this disease was now part of their life story too. “Mommy, are you going to die?” That question crushed me. It was in that moment that fear and conviction hit me all at once.
I hadn’t even considered death. My mind raced: Had I taught my girls enough? Would they be okay without me? But simultaneously, I felt a surge of strength. No, I wasn’t going to let this take me down. “No, sweetheart, mommy won’t die,” I told them. “I have a whole team of doctors and nurses working with me to make sure I get better.”
The house was quiet for the rest of the day. We spent time snuggling and answering their questions as they came. That evening, they asked to have a friend over, and I was grateful they could feel some sense of normalcy. Meanwhile, Dave and I had to figure out how to tell the rest of our family and start preparing for the week ahead—a week filled with endless appointments, paperwork, and trying to find a new normal
