How it all began

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This is the story to how it all began for me. This is a story about friendship and about how incredibly lucky I consider myself to be. This is NOT a story about a victory because I don’t believe in the notion of a Cancer Survivor. Surviving cancer to me means “If I am lucky, when I die one day, It won’t be Cancer that kills me, but something else the society is less scared of ...and hopefully that day can push a few years over the statistical prognosis my doctor gave me.”

This is a story about the positive side of the biggest crisis in my life and about the beginning of a beautiful journey. This personal journey surely hasn’t been a linear path to enlightenment. I consider it very much to be everything from a walk in the dark to straight falls flat on my face. It’s a Path after Cancer with many ups and downs, which continues to teach me how to love myself, how to question everything society considered “normal”, how to find compassion and laugh more.

‘cause why not laugh? Cancer is a notion, it’s something that you live with for the rest of your life. But that is not necessarily a bad thing. It’s that tattoo on your wrist, which reminds you of the most important lesson - life is impertinent, the only sure thing is that you will die some day and until then, you better learn how to find happiness in the small things offered to you daily.

So whoever you are, I hope that my stories will offer you some comfort, a ray of hope and maybe help you see things in a new way.

--[K]

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To all those who made me learn the true definition of „friendship‟

My 27th Birthday

It’s the 25th of May 2010 – 12 days after my 27th Birthday. I’ve moved to Spain from Germany for my Masters degree just in September 2009. I have 3 more months before I finish my studies but right now I am sitting in the doctor’s office in the Frankfurt hospital – scared but still quite optimistic that I will be out of here in the afternoon with good news. My mind is racing, playing over and over again the events of the past 7 months.

In October 2009, a month after moving to Barcelona, I discover a little lump in my right armpit. It doesn’t worry me instantly. Nonetheless I take the time to read through a few internet blogs. Their content ranges from vodooo type of advice to apocalyptic scenarios. During the Christmas break I still pay my doctor in Germany a visit. The brief ultrasound check followed by a few assertive sentences from the guy makes me put the topic aside. Trusting the fact that being 26 is a cancer-free pass, I agree to follow up in 3 months and eventually remove the lump (if I really insist on it) upon my planned return to Germany in August 2010.

The months roll. Caught into my studies I barely notice the lump keeps growing. But by March I am no longer convinced I should wait another 5 months to have it examined. No matter what it is, I want it out of my body ASAP. So I include a ‘cosmetic surgery’ appointment into the trip to Germany for my birthday.

So here I am now – in Frankfurt, in the oncology office, holding the hand of Julia, one of my best friends. She is the one that convinces me to have a proper examination. Just 2 days ago I have undergone a biopsy and she hasn’t left my side since.

The doctor finally calls us into his office. I can’t read his face. I don’t know if the news are good or bad. I brush my long brown hair behind my ears like I always do, when I am nervous. On the way to his office I catch a glimpse of my face. I am pale, I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. The hope for good news hasn’t left me, but an unsettling feeling has been nesting in my stomach since the biopsy. We sit down and next few minutes must have been the longest minutes in my life. The yellow folder in the hands of my doctor stands quiet and closed. Then he opens the first page with a slow motion and muffles:

"Unfortunately, I have no good news for you..."

I can feel my body evaporating, I can feel myself spilled across the floor of the room, I can hear my heartbeat and my breathing, I can feel my blood tingling down from my head down to my feet. First tears roll down my cheeks and I feel squeezing Julia’s hand even harder.

"But how? I am only 26… I mean I just turned 27… isn’t this..."

Question after question, all the facts that have consoled me in the past 7 months try to find their way to my mouth at the same time and I suddenly feel like I am suffocating.

The biopsy has confirmed it is a tumor, a fast growing one. The treatment recommendation means inevitably an immediate surgery, chemotherapy, radiology treatment. All these words that just moments ago had no meaning for me, that have been nothing but scary medical terms suddenly receive a very real form. And that is not all, I have to go through a full body check, because they can’t just say yet, if the cancer hasn’t even spread…Now I am shaking uncontrollably. What does that mean? Will I lose my hair, my breast? Will I die?? What about my studies??? I am just 3 months away from getting my degree, does that mean I have to drop out? Questions, important or not, start buzzing frantically in my head. But the doctor has no comforting answers. He leaves me with no ‘OR’ solutions either. There are none.

"We are fighting for your life here. We have to start treatment immediately. Everything else is irrelevant."

The next 2 days are crucial and they not only turn out to be filled with the most important decisions I’ve ever had to take in my life but they also prove how lucky I am with the people I have in my life. I call everyone who’s dear to me personally. Pronouncing the sentence ‘I have cancer’ feels like a bullet through my flesh. My body rejects the thought but I know I have to accept it. 2 hours after the diagnosis I am sitting around a table with a dozen of my closest friends. They all come immediately after my call. Julia, Miro, Yavor, Nasko, Mihaela, Poli – and many more are there, everyone that has become a part of my big German/Bulgarian family in the past 8 years I’ve lived in the country. I’ve cried for hours and I feel dehydrated and dizzy. I looked at them searching for a ray of hope because all I can see ahead of me is darkness. Where do I begin? I am completely lost. All the plans that I had to that day - doing an exchange programme in USA, finishing my degree, looking for a job, taking a long trip before returning to Germany – everything seems impossible and far away from achieving. What is even sadder is that I don’t know ANYONE my age that has gone through something like this. People my age usually worry about jobs or university exams, complain about relationships or gaining weight. The thought makes me burst into tears again.

My friends consoling but realistic tell me to get a grip and try to think clearly. In this moment I see how well they know me and that what I need is really a butt kick and a less dramatic view on the matters. "What do you WANT?" is one of their first questions and like never before the answer of that question is crystal clear to me – I WANT to fight! No, not only fight: I WANT to be able to do the things I consider most important – go back to Barcelona and finish my studies! None of them thinks I am unreasonable. They are all fighters, I know that. We’ve been through many hard moments together and I am proud of each one of them of how well they have managed their lives, so I am not surprised when their next question is: "How can we help?".

We spend the rest of the time disintegrating the big ‘cancer’ problem into small tasks. A list is made, a timeline is set, and everyone takes a chunk. Suddenly the problem doesn’t seem so big. I no longer feel lost. I feel like dozens of hands are there to pick me up from the ground in the hardest moment of my life.

Next day is action day. I have an appointment with 2 surgeons, a chemotherapy specialist, a pathologist and a radiologist. The panel of mighty doctor titles stares at me sternly trying to point out how serious the matter is and that I quit everything else and focus on the cancer. Instead of following their advice I open my schedule and say:

"I can’t have the surgery next week. I have to be in Barcelona for my classes, but the week after works for me. And if I can have it on Monday or Tuesday, it would be great, I really would like to fly back to Barcelona on the Sunday after the surgery."

The doctors look at me with dismay. They literally tell me I am crazy:

"Even if the surgery is successful and we remove the entire tumor we can’t guarantee by no means you can recover in 4 days to a state where you can fly!"

But I am not willing to change my mind. If it is my life I am fighting for, then I want to live it normally DESPITE the cancer. They object again telling me there is no way on earth I could squish all appointments in a way that it fits with my tight study schedule or even prepare adequately for all medical tests, read all the information, get all documents sorted out. But I am no longer scared. I have my army of helpers.

The doctors haven’t exaggerated about the complexity of a cancer treatment. Not only does it involve over a dozen medical tests – MRI, CT, blood tests, ECG, ultrasound and conversation after conversation, but it spans over several medical departments, which means more bureaucracy, more appointments to be made, more detailed questions one has to ask, more answers that can’t be delivered. It is more than a full time job; it is a serious coordination challenge.

I dread the question 'why?’, knowing I will never find the exact answer. The gene test also turns out to be negative, so I can’t blame the cancer on my ancestors either. I think a lot about the way I’ve lived so far – always on the run, always stressed, always working hard, always being unsatisfied and wanting something more. I’ve also never paid a lot of attention of how and what I eat, I’ve put my body through so many tests and somewhere along that run it pulled the emergency brake. Now I know that more important than finding the answer of the question is ‘why?’, is learning 'how?’ to change all these bits in my life that can open the door to self-destruction again.

I fly back to Barcelona. For one week I try to switch off, focus on my studies and prepare mentally for the surgery. In the meantime Julia is in charge of my medical appointments, surgery schedule and is the one attending all consultations with doctors. Miro does the research on all certified institutes for chemotherapy and tries to obtain a second opinion on my diagnosis. Yavor helps me get my finances and my health insurances papers in order. Every one of my friends and family is either doing a research, getting more information on different therapies or simply there to distract me. After a few days I am finally beginning to see through the big jungle of cancer-treatment information. There are so many decisions to be made – ovarian conservation surgery, cancer surgery method, type of chemotherapy, post-cancer treatment, which medical institutions, what kind of wig... I read many cancer study papers in the hope that there is some guarantee that all this is worth it, that I will be ok. Yet I know that this study does not exist. No amount of statistical data can prove that the treatment will work for ME, that the cancer will never return again. The biggest investment I will have to make is trust my intuition for many of these choices.

Many people, even the doctors, tell me that cancer is a hard challenge to go through because it shows also the true colours of the people around you. Many lose friends. I realized I won friends. At the university I decide to be open about the cancer. Everyone is extremely supportive. My classmates offer immediately to help me with my assignments, to pick me up from the airport, to be there for whatever comes. It amazes me also how many of them offer advice or a motivating story of a relative who has fought cancer. I no longer feel like I am the only one who has to deal with it. Cancer is no longer the unknown enemy.

And so the big fight begins.

Mirror, Mirror (by Jens Haensel)

The chemotherapy starts on the day after my graduation, 7 weeks after the surgery. The entire tumor is removed and the only trace I see now is a small scar in my armpit. My prognosis is good, though the months that follow are hard. I will never forget the day I have to part with my long hair and learn to live with the new image, which with every single day looks more like the reflection of an alien growing bald, than of a young woman. The chemotherapy brings its consequences – full body pain, loss of immune system, insomnia, loss of appetite, even loss of short-term memory. Trying to see myself as a pretty girl, as a girl, grows harder.

But like every other crisis in life, this one brings many opportunities too. I finally have time to do many things that I’ve always been too busy for before. I exercise daily. I stop eating junk. I keep my mind busy – writing a journal, going to exhibitions, reading tons of books, exploring new hobbies. I start taking Spanish classes and despite treatment schedule I even find the time to travel. I feel myself growing calmer and for the first time aware of the balance I need in life. I look for a happy moment in every day and keep reminding myself to stop worrying about the things I can’t change. For the first time I learn how to stand still and be patient.

Mostly I can feel an extreme gratitude for having such strong, caring and positive people in my life. Owing to them there is not even one single thing on my ‘I WANT’ list that I don’t manage to do. Even though the doctors are convinced I won’t be able to recover so quickly, I fly back to Barcelona on the Sunday day after the surgery. Owing to my helpers who spend every day beside my bed, doing exercises with me until I can get up and walk again. Owing to my dear roommates nurse me and stay next to my side day and night, I return to my ballet class on the 6th day after the surgery. I fly to USA for my master exchange program on the 10th day and it is my classmates who turn the trip into an unforgettable experience. When the big day arrives and I finally hold the diploma in my hands, it means something more than simply graduating, it is the last day of this life, it is a big milestone along the journey, one that tell me: No matter what tomorrow brings, you can do it.

My life continued. I found a great job. I’ve lived in 3 different countries since and travelled to many more. I managed to witness the weddings of many of my dear friends. My hair is growing back and my normal daily round returned. Cancer will inevitably always be a part of my life, the fear it might return will always be there but I know that I still have a choice, the choice to fight. And owing to my friends and family I learnt that I have the strength to do it. There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought of everyone who went through this journey with me and I will probably never be able to find words strong enough to express how much it means to me to have them in my life.

The Bulgarian Gang at one of the unforgettable weddings

On 1st February 2011, the last day of my treatment, I wrote to them this note:

The tests are through and my treatment has officially arrived to an end! When I look back to the past 10 months, I can barely recollect the bad moments and I owe all the best ones to you – great B-day party, exchange in L.A., girls’ trip to Ibiza, weekend in Berlin, road trip to Eastern Europe, boat trip in Hermannsburg, the class reunions in Barcelona and Hamburg, Essy’s visit in Germany, Paco de Lucia concert in Ingolstadt, New Year’s Eve in Hamburg, the countless pub nights in Darmstadt… Thanks to my Bulgarian Gang for breaking the visitors’ record of the Frankfurt hospital and making me laugh so hard it made me forget everything, for spending endless hours sipping coffee with me, for the movie nights, for having a “creative” solution to any problem. Thanks to my family for all the strength and prayers. Thanks to my thesis project team for all the support and being such great friends. Thanks to the greatest roommates one could wish for. Thank to my LA-exchange crew and thanks to all EADA Business School girls & boys for the inexhaustible party spirit. Thanks to the best and wittiest job interview coaches in the world. Thanks to all my friends far away around the world, who always find time to send me words of courage. Thanks to Julia, Miro and Yavor, who picked me up in the worst moment of my life, remained strong, patient and understanding till the end. I will never be able to express all my gratitude to you! Many people say one loses friends through such a hard time, I found out I have the greatest friends one could ever wish for. Thank you, thank you, thank you…

Me, 1 week after Chemotherapy ended (Nov 2010) by Jens Hänsel