My 33rd blog: (just one of my battles in life)

The Lump That Changed Everything: My Path Through Uncertainty

 

Each of us faces trials uniquely designed to test our strength and resilience. For much of my life, I’ve seen myself as fragile, struggling to withstand the pain and hardships that came my way. Yet, through every storm, one truth has remained unwavering—I have stood firm in my Catholic faith. Though I may falter time and again, I do not let the beliefs of others shake my own. And if there is one certainty I hold onto, it is that God does not burden us beyond what we can endure. That, I know for sure.

 

In 2016, I was diagnosed with ductal carcinoma in situ—stage 0 to 1 breast cancer. Not the most daunting prognosis, some might say. But for me, it felt unbearable. At the time, my ex-husband and I had separated, leaving me to navigate the weight of the diagnosis alone. I was working nights at an online English school, teaching Japanese professionals who demanded precision. Exhaustion was my constant companion, reports had to be completed until the early hours, and amidst it all, I scheduled my mammogram. I hadn’t expected anything alarming—until they found calcifications in my right breast.  I still remember calling my cousin Joy, desperate to understand why this was happening to me. Alone, overwhelmed, I felt the world collapse onto my lap.

 

Then came the treatments. Fortunately, I didn’t need a mastectomy—only a lumpectomy to remove the cancerous cells. But that was just the beginning. Radiotherapy followed. As I walked the corridor toward the radiology section, I saw the women waiting for their own treatments. Some were battling stage 3, others stage 4—some were facing cancer for the second or third time. Their fight was far greater than mine, yet I still found myself questioning—why me? Why this battle? And in my moment of despair, I failed to see the weight of their struggle before me.

After one or two sessions of radiotherapy, I found myself in the chapel, standing before the image of Mother Mary and Jesus Christ. And there, in the quiet sanctuary, I broke down—not in anger, but in humility. How could I question why I had been stricken with cancer when so many bore heavier burdens? I felt a wave of shame over me.

 

Thereafter, I made a promise to myself—every year, if my mammography and ultrasound results came back benign, I would celebrate. And today, May 28, 2025, I uphold that promise once more. The test remains clear. I am still here.

 

I thank God for this mercy, this unearned gift of life. We walk this earth on borrowed time, never knowing what tomorrow holds. But in the midst of uncertainty, one truth remains steadfast— God’s faithfulness is bold and true, His mercy like the morning dew—softly falling, pure and bright, a guiding light through the darkest night.