Take a Deep Breath In

Pppfffffffwwwwwwwww.

My lips purse together creating the tiniest hole so that air streams from the back of my throat, cruising over my tongue, forcing its way past my teeth and out into the universe. This is what it sounds like when I consciously remind myself to breathe. I take these ginormous breaths in, imagining that I am a vortex of darkness taking all of earth’s oxygen, and then pppfffffffwwwwwwwww.

I’ll be honest that it took an extremely long time to do this on my own; I used to take yoga classes just to help me breathe. You’re probably wondering how badly I’m overexaggerating this because I am human aren’t I?

Pppfffffffwwwwwwwww.

Well, for much of my life, I may as well have been a free diver because I would hold my breath whenever I was angry, scared, stressed, anxious, about to cry, hungry, embarrassed – really – emotions stopped me from breathing normally. As I wrote this to you, I realized I was holding my breath again, because here I am telling you a not so secret, secret. My truth.

When I do this, I hold my breath so long until I start to feel ridiculous discomfort, and still not clue in that I need to inhale, but before you know it, my mouth gapes open and out comes a large audible, alarming, intake of air that sounds more sea animal than woman. This sound snaps me out of my thoughts and my gaze visually adjusts and I see a number of faces trying to hide their “what the fuck was that?” expressions.

So, that day when my doctor told me, I just needed to change my medication (Tamoxifen) instead of telling me that my breast cancer was back, Pppfffffffwwwwwwwww. I was breathing fine, because all I needed was a med change, but it was when the pharmacist rang me to confirm my information including my diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer. I paused, then yelled, “No I do not!” I mentally questioned his unprofessionalism and how absolutely offensive it is to say that to me. I could have passed out from breathlessness!

He stated again that I did, and I shot back that I did not, going on like we were siblings tattling on each other. Suddenly, I noticed my airways were void of precious oxygen. My thoughts started to race, and nothing he was saying was registering. He asked me if I knew that I was being prescribed Kisqali, and I used what little air was left to squeak out, “Spell it!”

K-i-s-q-a-l-i, he said, and I frantically googled it. The words “Metastatic Breast Cancer” leapt off my phone, through my eyes and started short- circuiting its way into my brain. In that moment, I did what any sane person would do and hung up on him, as my throat started to constrict and the water from my body instantly drew into the pressurized tubes that were ready to squeeze out of my eyes.

No crying, my brain screamed! No, n… words started to sputter out, my brain malfunctioned and then my mouth opened and took in so much air that I started to cough, and as I choked, the tears spilled over, cueing my nostrils to flood with snot. Gasping and retching like a dying animal sucking in their last breath, I was unable to siphon any air from my mouth or through my snot river nose.

Pppfffffffwwwwwwwww.

But that was 2021, and today I sip in air carefreely because I managed to learn a few things with time. I still hold my breath until I almost lose consciousness then audibly gasp, like a northern elephant seal in distress, but I do it less frequently for the reasons of anger, fear, anxiety, tears, hunger, or embarrassment (I still do it because of stress). Mostly because I have been working on ways to manage those emotions.

Since then, I have been unknowingly stepping into a new era of me. By 2021, I already had three years of cancer experience on my CV, but I didn’t know what I know now, and thought back then, that I could somehow have known it all. I started to meet others in Cancerland, varying in experience and time spent on the inside. Since then, I met people of all backgrounds and experiences with little or a lot in common, and we all shared this one thing: the experience of having cancer.

Pppfffffffwwwwwwwww.

While I’d wish no one in this world would ever experience having cancer, having met people that were so willing to share their experiences with me, was comforting. The more I knew them, the more comfortable I was sharing my stories and stabilizing my feelings, allowing me to be able to breathe. They helped me breathe.

Pppfffffffwwwwwwwww.

On my third anniversary of metastatic breast cancer this year, I realized how much I have changed for the better. People ask if I am a breast cancer advocate, and I ruminate, and wonder if I am. I don’t really do anything, though; advocacy should do something for the world. Advocates should be thought leaders and change spaces and make things better for people. They should stoically stand up to cancer, and live life to the fullest, they never cry or show fear in the face of disappointment — they are super- cancer-person, fighting for free … heeeeeee, as I hyperventilate, heaving in air like a short-eared brushtail possum wheezing and growling.

I realized I was consumed by my thoughts right in front of the person wildly waving their hands in my face wondering if I popped out through a portal of a parallel world. They repeated, are you a breast cancer advocate? I take a deep breath in and say, ”Yes, I am, but I prefer to be called a storyteller.”

Pppfffffffwwwwwwwww.

I talk about my experiences openly so that others will know that it is a safe space to share. I answer questions to the best of my abilities, knowing that my responses have changed since the beginning and could continue to change as I get more comfortable in my own skin. I am passionate about some of my feelings, and when I feel safe, I breathe and talk or write about the harder emotions I’ve lived through and my goals of growing from my experiences and helping others. I went on a journey to say yes to everything so I could fear nothing, and then when I get overwhelmed, I ugly cry, with snot streaming down that short pathway from my nostrils to the sides of my mouth. I share that I may not be okay in the moment now, but I know with support I will experience joy again. I know this because, through all of it, I continue to experience joy, time and time again.

So, this is how I advocate for people. I tell stories of how I’ve been living, how I am learning and share as much as I can, in hope that you will find a way to start telling your story, and for us to deeply breathe in all the air, life, and joy, even when we live with cancer.

Pppfffffffwwwwwwwww.

Rethink is honoured to be the guest editor for Wildfire Magazine’s annual Metastatic Breast Cancer issue focusing on Advocacy.

^{This piece has been republished with permission from WILDFIRE Magazine, the “MBC Advocacy” issue issue, published originally October 19, 2024. More information available at  wildfirecommunity.org} 

^{WILDFIRE Magazine is the only magazine for young women survivors and fighters of breast cancer under 45 years old. Headquartered in Santa Cruz, California, WILDFIRE is a beautiful, story-based bi-monthly magazine published on different themes relevant to young women survivors, from stage 0 to stage IV. Beautiful and ad-free! Visit  wildfirecommunity.org for more info.}