I don’t remember my first swim but I am told it was before I could walk.  I’ve always enjoyed water, but one incident scared me to my core. 

I was in Brazil, playing in the waves at Copacabana Beach.  Diving in, I suddenly didn’t know which way was up.  The water began to pull me along and I was powerless to change direction.  I panicked, thrashing about to get back to shore, water up my nose preventing a yell.  I felt myself cartwheeling in the waves, completely terrified, until the force of the next wave spit me towards shore and I was able to shove my feet into the sand.  I ran out of the water, turning back to look at the waves which were now peacefully playing tag with the shoreline.  A friend asked if I was alright but I don’t think he really saw what happened.  What felt like hours was only seconds, and what felt like complete isolation was a crowded beach with my friends nearby.  I sat in the sand, paralyzed; water had never treated me like that before.

I have felt the same betrayal, powerlessness and loneliness since my breast cancer diagnosis;

When I gained weight and couldn’t stop; I felt betrayed – my body had never treated me like that before

When my internal temperature unwillingly rises, turning into hot flashes sprinkled with sweat dripping down my face; I feel betrayed – my body has never treated me like that before

When I tried to do a single push-up and couldn’t get my body off the floor; I felt powerless – my body had never treated me like that before

With hormonal therapy, when it’s difficult to stand up and it seems like body parts don’t function; I feel powerless – my body has never treated me like that before

When I walk into the hospital’s oncology unit and don’t see a single person who can be close to my age; I feel alone – my body has never been that alone before

When I have to advocate for myself in a foreign healthcare system, sometimes in a foreign language, especially on topics readily accepted in my home country; I feel alone – I have never been treated like that before

However, since diagnosis, I have learnt that I can change direction, I am powerful and I am not alone.  Sometimes it’s as simple as a slight shift in perspective;

This body brought me through diagnosis, treatment, recovery and remission, and I am reclaiming her with every run, every pilates class, every time I view my smart watch stats and see how far I’ve come

This medication is potentially saving my life, and I gladly accept if a sweatier version of me is the price to pay

That moment occurred after the first round of chemo, after flying across the Atlantic to my besties’ double bachelorette, where I was also often the last one on the dancefloor

I got back on the football pitch 7 months post-mastectomy and reconstruction, 3 months post-chemotherapy

I feel lucky that it’s a 32yr old body being exposed to this trauma, and that she can withstand whatever is thrown her way

The health care system I have access to is one of the best in the world, and I have met a wonderful community of thrivers thanks to the rehabilitation programs offered here.

I have moved within, through and away from cancer. I have no fear of cancer, and don’t blame my body for what has happened. I will remove what is not functioning inside my body, then treat her with respect and care as I develop my physical and mental self into someone much stronger that I ever thought I could be.  It’s become clear to me that my body is looking out for me in the best way she knows how.  Now it’s up to me to return the favour.  

This piece began during April Stern’s Sparks writing workshop and was later published in Wildfire Magazine‘s annual BODY issue in June 2024.

Pick up a digital or print copy of the 2024 Body issue here, and support “the only magazine for and by people too young for breast cancer”