My Cancer Journey: The Pain of Being Unseen

When I first saw this question, it stirred up a lot of anger and pain from my cancer journey. I’ve been blessed to be in long-term remission from Stage IV-B NHL for nearly 30 years. I went through chemo (CHOP), lost my hair, battled weakness and anemia—but I did my best to carry on with life. As a single mother, I kept working and stayed involved in my children’s activities as much as possible.

When Cancer meets ignorance

One moment that still stings is when my youngest daughter asked her swim coach if she could miss an out-of-town meet because I was undergoing chemotherapy. He told her he didn’t believe her and said she should come up with a better excuse. She was devastated, and I was furious. I confronted him—he was not only a coach but also a school counselor. I removed my wig, showed him my bald head, and told him how disappointed I was in his lack of compassion. He stumbled through an excuse, but I didn’t let it slide. All I wanted was an apology for my daughter and a little respect for what we were going through. This moment became a defining part of my cancer journey—one where I realized that ignorance can hurt as much as the illness itself.

Pressured by parents

Later, with the same daughter—this time with soccer—other parents insisted one of us be present at every practice in a public park. I explained I couldn’t commit to specific days because chemo often left me too weak. They pressured me anyway. It was clear they didn’t understand, or believe, how debilitating chemo could be. I was incredibly disappointed in their lack of empathy.

A withdrawal misunderstood

Another time, I was invited to be on a women’s conference panel. I really wanted to participate, but again, I couldn’t guarantee I’d be well enough. When I withdrew, some of the younger women reacted with anger. That hurt deeply.

My mother’s denial

But what hurt the most was a moment with my own mother. She visited while I was sick, and at home, I often went without a head covering. She asked me to put my wig on because I “didn’t look like myself.” As if the wig would somehow erase the cancer. I know she was in denial, but it made me feel abandoned at a time I needed her support the most. It still hurts to reflect on these memories. My mother couldn’t fully see the reality of my illness. My daughter was disrespected by adults who should’ve known better.

The weight of being misunderstood

Being diagnosed with a life-threatening illness is shattering on its own. You live with the fear of treatment failure, and the anxiety before every appointment is intense. But the emotional pain—watching your child suffer because of other people’s ignorance or judgment—cuts even deeper.

Where was the compassion? The understanding? The basic human kindness for someone going through so much?