Journey

My Diagnosis

I was diagnosed with breast cancer 5 days before my 35th birthday — the first in my family to face this disease. The news came as a complete shock. No one is ever prepared to hear the word "cancer," and I certainly wasn’t.

I’ve always been a private person, so it was incredibly difficult to keep this diagnosis to myself at first, especially from my family. At the time, my wife and I had a trip planned to the Philippines for her sister’s wedding. What should have been a joyful celebration was clouded by the weight of what I had just learned. It was hard to smile, knowing that once the trip ended, I’d be returning home to begin cancer treatment.

The Start of It All

Years earlier, I discovered a lump in my breast. I did everything right—I went to my doctor and had it checked. Multiple ultrasounds showed that it was a benign cyst, and I was told not to worry. Still, I continued routine check-ups, always keeping an eye on it.

Then one day, I noticed a discharge—bloody and pus-like. I knew something was wrong. I called my general practitioner immediately, and she referred me to a specialist without hesitation. That’s when things began moving fast.

Getting a cancer diagnosis is more than just hearing the words — it’s a process that drains you emotionally, mentally, and physically. The countless tests, the waiting, the fear, and the uncertainty... it all takes a toll. Even now, everything about this journey—every appointment, every treatment—still leaves me exhausted in more ways than one.

Talking to My Family

At the time, I didn’t know how to break the news to my family. It’s one of those moments where no timing ever feels right—how do you tell the people you love something so life-changing?

As strange as it may sound, I chose to tell them after dinner, at a coffee shop. I guess I was hoping the casual setting would soften the blow—maybe even help them hold it together. But oh boy, was I wrong.

The moment the words left my mouth, the weight of it hit them hard. There were tears, shock, silence. It was everything I had tried to prepare for—but also everything I had hoped wouldn’t happen. Still, seeing them there, knowing they were trying to be strong for me, brought a strange sense of comfort. It didn’t make things better, but it made it feel… just okay.

Because the truth is, even with all their love and support, I still had to face this disease myself. No one could carry it for me. But knowing they were there, rooting for me, made all the difference.

Treatment

The timeline of my treatment moved quickly, but living through it felt like time had slowed to a crawl. Every day felt like a drag. Getting poked, prodded, scanned, and questioned—it’s not something anyone ever gets used to.

Now, over a year later, I still reflect on the journey. Every sharp pain, every moment of fear—I try to turn it into strength. A reminder that I’m still here, still pushing through something that has tested me in every possible way.

I'm currently on chemotherapy pills. And honestly, just thinking about it is emotionally exhausting. It feels like it’s draining the life out of me—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. This should be a time when I’m planning for a family, thinking about children, and focusing on preserving my reproductive health. Instead, I’m taking medication with warnings like “may cause uterine cancer.”

I consider myself a positive person. I really try to follow my doctors' advice, to trust the process. But there are moments when I question everything. How can I not? When the very steps I’m taking to stay alive could impact my ability to live the life I imagined?

Reflection

This journey has been a true reflection of what I’m capable of enduring—not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. It’s pushed me to the edge and shown me a strength I didn’t know I had.

Cancer has a way of stripping life down to its rawest form, and through that, I’ve learned to see things differently. I’ve learned to value the little moments more, to hold onto joy more tightly, and to find light even when it feels like the world is dimming.

This experience has changed me—but in some ways, for the better. I see life more clearly now. I hold more gratitude. And no matter what the future holds, no one can take this perspective, this strength, or this growth away from me.