Journey in Breast Cancer

Journey in Breast Cancer

There is something about cancer that seems to invite folks to liken it to a journey, and not
just any journey but a particularly mystical journey. There are so many other diseases that
people have to live with, yet no one talks about an AIDS journey, or the journey of heart
disease or hepatitis or … take your pick. But some people take on that hushed tone of
concern when they ask you about your cancer and then you actually tell them about it!

They weren’t quite expecting that, and they feel they have to say something in response,
and for a lot of people that response is “Well, it’s all part of the journey.”

So I’m going to try to unpack this moniker somewhat—the journey.

In what ways is having breast cancer like a journey? Well, I guess the fact that, once
diagnosed, you embark on a path that you had no idea you were heading for might make it
seem a bit like a journey, though in this case an unexpected one. Many think cancer has a
beginning, middle, and end—diagnosis, treatment, end of treatment—as many journeys do.

People are often changed by their journeys, and there seems to be a common consensus
that going through cancer should change you. I don’t subscribe to that particular idea (see
“E Is for Epiphany”).

Why does this particular word, journey, this noun (which is also used as a verb), irritate
me so? Maybe it is because the word journey seems so completely and utterly
inappropriate and inadequate to discuss a process in which the course of treatment, despite
all the advances of modern science, is still slash or poison or burn, or some combination
thereof—cut, chemo, radiate, maybe even all three. There is absolutely nothing about
enduring breast cancer and its treatment that is like any journey I have ever taken, even the
bad ones!

I have been on some remarkable journeys in my life. The first is one I was not even
aware of. I was a mere four months old when my parents set sail on a ship from India to
England. Another extraordinary journey was the one familiar to so many immigrants, the
journey I undertook after marrying my American husband and moving here to the United States.

After a year in this country, my husband and I moved back east from California. We
drove along the southern route. I got to see the majesty of the Grand Canyon, the beauty
of Zion National Park in Utah, the endless, stark emptiness of Texas, a state that seemed to
go on forever, and the hot and humid Deep South. Now that was a journey.

I’ve traveled the deserts and mountains of northwest China. What an amazing journey,
sleeping in a yurt in the soaring Tian Shan mountains, riding horses, and getting caught in a
jam of fat-tailed sheep! I’ve visited so many places around the world, some on the welltrodden
path of travelers who came before me, others off the beaten track, but all full of
excitement and adventure. Those were all journeys.

To me the word journey describes something that is rooted in the physical world,
transporting from one place to another. To me a journey implies wonder, exploration,
perhaps a particular destination. It sometimes has romantic connotations, a journey to the
exotic and enchanting.

My breast cancer was not mystical or enchanting or exotic. My breast cancer was not
and is not a journey.

Getting through cancer is no different from getting through some other terrible disease
because that is what it is, a disease. It’s okay to treat it like one.