Lisa Potter Essay Response “It’s probably nothing,” my doctor said. “Probably a false irregularity.” She was taking a biopsy of two apparently irregular areas of my cervix, and she did not seem too serious about it, so I felt confident in the possibility of a false positive. The biopsy was painful. When the doctor and her assistant left the room, it took great effort to get out of the chair, to stand up, to put my clothes on. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced—my entire body felt different. But it would be okay. She said the test results would come the next week, and all this would be cleared up. “You have cancer” were the next words I would hear from my doctor—two weeks after my procedure. “I was completely shocked,” she said. So was I. In a matter of 48 hours, my life had been turned completely upside-down. Saturday night, my father announced to the family that he had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer. Sunday, I had made the decision not to participate in track during the spring semester, enabling myself to travel home as needed and take care of my family and myself. Monday, I called my track coaches to tell them the news and of my decision, and in less than ten minutes after ending my conversation with my coach, I was told that I had cervical cancer. I felt numb. The previous six months, I had been suffering from moderate depression, and during the fall semester of my senior year in college, I experienced a series of emotional breakdowns. Just as I was starting to rebuild and overcome, my entire world collapsed again, except this time it was not just emotional, but also physical. I was overwhelmed and I was alone. I felt like I could not tell anyone—especially my parents since they were already going through enough. I was afraid of what they would think. Additionally, I had little information myself; I could not possibly explain any of it to someone else. I felt very isolated. Finally, a week later, I finally told my mother. She, too, was shocked. She could not wrap her head around what was happening to our family. I asked her to downplay my condition to my father to avoid increased stress while he underwent his own treatment, and I asked her not to tell anyone else because I was afraid of being judged and stigmatized due to some of the risk factors associated with cervical cancer, even though the situation was completely out of my control. In January, I returned to college for my final semester. I met with each of my professors to tell them what was going on, and that I would be missing class after getting surgery. My professors were extremely supportive, and two disclosed to me that they were also diagnosed with cancers, each at a young age like myself. They reminded me that cervical cancer could be treated, and that I was lucky to have caught it early.
However, I had one professor who treated me like the cancer was my own fault. She blamed me for not getting the Gardasil vaccine, and insinuated my sexual history was relevant to my diagnosis—without knowing anything about me. After my meeting with her, I was afraid that other people would think the same way, and I became very insecure. I was afraid of others finding out and that my peers would reject me and that my teammates and friends would disappear if they found out I had cervical cancer because of all the misconceptions and assumptions as well as the stigma attached to it. Additionally, I continued to feel isolated at college because I was dealing with very adult situations—and several of them at the same time—while still trying to figure out how to become an adult in a place no one else was going through what I was. There was no one with whom I could identify; I was the odd one out and there was no community for me to belong. I longed for support, and felt I could not find that within my peer groups; that no one would understand. It was only after reaching out to my most intimate friends that I realized I had been giving too much weight to others’ perceptions of me. Part of my depression was related to having a low sense of self-esteem and feelings of inadequacy, no matter the amount of effort I put into everything that I did or how successful I was. However, my group of close friends helped me realize that who I am is good enough, and whether or not others agree is irrelevant. The people who matter are those that love me for who I am, and the people I was so worried about were strangers whose opinions were based on subjective perceptions, incomplete knowledge and rumors. My social status according to my peers was not important, but my relationships were valuable and worth my time and consideration. I was learning to be happy. Being diagnosed with cancer—no matter how treatable—is devastating. It certainly put many things into perspective for me, which has helped me grow emotionally and personally. Through my experience, I have learned that people should always be a priority; that my friends and family are most important to me. I learned that worrying about what others think about me will never enable me be the person I want to be, and that allowing others’ perceptions to pervade my conscience will only serve to stagnate my personal development and ability to both set and also to reach my goals. Rather, I began focusing the relationships I had with people that were the positive forces in my life, and cutting out the negative influences that had long been making me feel inadequate and hopeless. Having cancer taught me to love the people who were truly involved in my life even more, and helped me to understand and appreciate them. In turn, it gave me the ability to see my life through a new framework and fully realize all the good and positive aspects in my life that I had previously taken for granted. Granted, there were times I felt disgusted with my situation and my body, and very alone, but through that I learned to truly love myself for who I was, and that others’ perceptions did not determine my level of
successfulness or my lovability. Instead, what did matter was the lens through which I saw myself—and through that lens, I am pretty awesome. I believe that this concept is one of the most essential pieces to true happiness and a better quality of life. Additionally, I think that being able to accept oneself is empowering and enables the individual to find success in other areas of life, whether it be academically, professionally, socially or otherwise. Knowing and loving oneself is crucial to not only effectively setting long-term goals, but also achieving those goals and finding fulfillment in oneself. Cancer was my greatest educator and my antidepressant, and I want to share my experiences with others, especially those who are going through similar hardships. Prior to my diagnosis, I had never considered donating to cancer research, or dedicating myself to spreading awareness of anything because I thought that there were already enough people to do that. Being diagnosed opened my eyes to the lack of advocacy for young adult cancer patients, and I think that my background in communications and desire to learn more about the future of human communication will enable me to give to others what I did not have myself in addition to helping them to determine their priorities based on their personal aspirations, not the need to be accepted by others or considered successful by society’s superficial standards. I think that the lessons I have learned from having cancer will help me show others how to come to love and accept themselves and achieve real personal happiness.