I’ve
already found out that I do not know as much as I thought I did about breast
cancer. That should come as no surprise.
After
all, I have spent my life on a learning curve.
For
instance, as a college German major, I felt confident my junior year as I
embarked on a semester-long stay in Freiburg, Germany. But the moment I disembarked the airplane in
Frankfurt, I discovered that I did not understand a single word of the German
spoken to me. Ten years or so later, as
I began graduate studies in English, I was sure that at the end of the two-year
program, I would be an expert. Not
so. The more I studied, the more I
realized how little I knew.
In
such a manner, life has continued: just
about the time I start to consider myself a pro in any given field, endeavor,
or life experience . . . well, that is the point where I suddenly realize my
amateur status. Because the more you learn,
the less you know.
A
friend of mine started chemotherapy about the time I ended radiation. To my complete surprise, her chemotherapy
regimen is completely different than mine was.
Different types of breast cancer require different types of treatment. Different people experience different side
effects. Yet, I would venture to say
that all breast cancer survivors have a deepened empathy for breast cancer
patients. We’ve been through it. We know how long and hard the journey
is. We can listen, really understand,
and sometimes offer a helpful tip or two.
I
wondered what it would feel like the first time I entered the treatment room as
a visitor rather than as a patient. I
wondered if it would be traumatizing.
Nope. It was a familiar
place. I remembered how it felt to be
the person in the reclining chair. I was
happy to visit my friend. I wish she did
not have to go through all that comes with breast cancer treatment, but I am
happy to be part of her journey, even though I am no expert.
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