It was hospital visiting hours on a Sunday afternoon, sometime in June 1993, when my then fiancé and eight-month old son woke me from my deep sleep. Scheduled for surgery the next morning, I took this rare opportunity as a young mother to rest.
A routine operation, nothing to stress about. Just an inverted papilloma: “A benign but locally aggressive tumor that arises in the nasal cavity and paranasal sinuses, with a tendency to recur and a risk of malignant transformation, often presenting with symptoms similar to chronic rhinosinusitis.” (Source: Penmedicine)
At age 21, they didn’t expect it to be malignant. Surprise, surprise! That’s when dread disease struck the first time, then again in 1996, again in 1998, and again in 2000.
Over those ten years, as a young mother and wife, I did the best I could do with the limited emotional resources I had at the time. Career took a back seat. Life took a back seat. How can one plan ahead when you’re faced with your own mortality every time you try?
By the time I finally won the physical battle in my early 30s, I had no idea who I was anymore. As a form of protection, I had created a numbness around myself. “If they don’t love me too deeply, losing me won’t be that hard.” “If I don’t attach myself to anything, I won’t have to grieve its loss.”
Sounds like the perfect time to start a business, doesn’t it? No surprise that it failed, as did my marriage.
The only thing that truly mattered was my son, and a part of me will always feel that I wasn’t a good enough mother during those times when autopilot was the only way for me to get through life, through weeks and weeks of radiation, past the hair loss, the surgery, the lifelong scars and the emotional mess that one is left with when reintegrating into life, pretending to be whole.
And he’s such a blessing! My bright light. Sensitive and kind beyond his little years, he brought meaning to my life. I used to sing KC and The Sunshine Band to him…
“Your love makes me strong when things go wrong, I betcha didn’t even know that; You’re my sun shiny day when skies are gray, I betcha didn’t even know that; You’re my everything, my whole world revolves around you.”
Because I wanted him to know.
Since then, people have always called me a cancer survivor, a label I’ve never resonated with. I live with the side effects of the treatment every day. I’m reminded of the disease every day as those not quite as “lucky” as me lose their physical battle with it. My mom, my stepdad, the loved ones of those I love. It’s everywhere.
And it’s an ongoing battle within me. Every bump comes with the thought of “Could it be back?”
More so now as the symptoms of an inverted papilloma are back with a vengeance. What first appeared as eye issues in January this year is now very clearly nasopharyngeal. Once again, I am faced with my own mortality.
How does one articulate emotions so overwhelming when “I need some help” doesn’t cut the surface of it? When “I am scared” can be perceived as a weakness or a victimhood? When life is nowhere close to being what you wanted it to be and you know you’ve created it? When “I feel alone” is not a state of pity, but a state of having experienced something nobody around you has experienced, and nobody can relate to?
So why do I do what I do? Why am I passionate about empathy? Why am I so driven to create a culture of entrepreneurs stepping into one another’s shoes and feeling what we’re feeling? Why create a space for conversations that matter with entrepreneurs who place empathy before profit?
Because some words need to be spoken and some emotions don’t have words.
And even though we all have situations in which we feel completely alone, as solo entrepreneurs coming together we need never be alone.
