I was enjoying lunch with a friend when she suddenly clutched my hand and said, “I’m so glad you’re okay. Now, we can go back to normal.”
Fighting cancer is a journey many traverse, each with a story etched in pain and perseverance. Mine is a story of survival and resilience, but also of transformation. In the stillness that follows the storm, I find myself in an unexpected place, whispering to the universe: Wanted, new friends.
Cancer changes you, not just physically, but at your core. It carves its mark not only on the body but on the soul. Surviving is a triumph, a victory worth celebrating. But as the scars begin to heal, a quieter transformation begins. One that often goes unspoken.
In the embrace of friends, those who stood by my side through the darkest hours, I should feel complete. But there’s a part of me they cannot reach—a quiet chamber filled with echoes of fear, flashes of mortality, and a sudden, aching gratitude for the smallest, most ordinary moments.
The truth is, I’ve changed. I emerged from the battlefield of cancer as a warrior, hardened and weathered, with wisdom etched into my bones. I see life through a different lens now. I have tasted mortality, and it left an indelible mark. The trivial concerns that once filled my mind have given way to a deeper reverence for every sunrise, every laugh, and every mundane moment that sparkles with life’s magic.
It’s not that my friends don’t care. They do. Their presence kept me upright when I could barely stand. But something has shifted. It’s as if I’ve landed on a distant shore, while they remain on familiar ground. We no longer speak the same dialect. Their days fill with logistics: deadlines, dinner plans, and daily dramas. I sit with questions that have no tidy answers. I am undone by the fragility of life, and by its stubborn beauty.
And so, the isolation creeps in. Not out of their insensitivity, but out of the chasm that cancer has carved. I yearn for friends who understand that my laughter now carries the echo of tears once shed. I seek companions who can see beyond the smile I wear as armor into the vulnerabilities that linger beneath.
Here’s the paradox. I don’t want to go back to the ‘normal’ before cancer. I can’t. Cancer has irrevocably altered my trajectory. It stripped away the veneer of invincibility and replaced it with a profound vulnerability that is as much a part of me as my beating heart.
I stand at this crossroads, yearning for connection and for friends who understand the duality I live with. I’m not just a survivor; I’m a thriver. I don’t want pity; I want camaraderie. I don’t want to be defined by my illness; I want to be celebrated for my resilience.
As I write these words, I send a quiet message to the cosmos: Wanted: New Friends. Friends who understand that survival is only the beginning, that beneath the scars, a heart beats with renewed purpose. Friends who understand that healing does not restore what was lost, but teaches you how to live differently with what remains.