Finding My Way Through

I was 21 when a routine colonoscopy revealed rectal cancer. Aggressive, advanced, the kind that completely derails the future you'd been planning.

The fear was constant at first. Not just fear of treatment or outcomes, but fear about everything that came after. Would I get to have a normal life? A career? A family? Every plan I'd made suddenly felt uncertain. I'd lie awake wondering what my future actually looked like now, if I even had one to plan for.

What surprised me was how cancer changed what mattered. Before diagnosis, I was focused on the usual things: finishing my degree, advancing my career, ticking boxes. Afterwards, those things felt less urgent. I started noticing smaller moments more. Time with family and friends became precious in a way it hadn't been before. A good day wasn't measured by productivity anymore, it was measured by feeling okay, by laughing with people I cared about.

There's this strange mix of being terrified about the future while also being grateful for right now. Some days the fear wins and I spiral thinking about recurrence, about all the things that could go wrong. Other days I feel this unexpected appreciation for just being here, for getting through something I never thought I could.

Being diagnosed young forced me to reassess everything. I'd bought into this idea that life was about constant achievement and forward momentum. Cancer made me realise that's not sustainable, and maybe not even what matters. There's more to life than the next qualification or promotion. Sometimes just getting through the day is enough.

I'm still afraid of what comes next. The uncertainty doesn't go away. But I'm also learning to hold both things at once: the fear and the gratitude, the worry about tomorrow and the appreciation for today. It's not the perspective I wanted, but maybe it's one I needed.