A reflective look at the emotional overwhelm of a cancer journey, through the eyes of a marathon runner navigating fear, fatigue, and the quiet strength of showing up.

After surgery, before the next step — life sits in a quiet pause that feels both endless and full. Between appointments and test results, time stretches in strange ways. This is a reflection on the waiting, the anxiety, and the small anchors that keep me grounded when life feels suspended.

The Silence After the diagnosis There’s a strange kind of time that exists between diagnosis and treatment :not the kind marked by calendars or clocks, but by phone calls, test results, and the sound of your own heartbeat while waiting for news. Everything feels both urgent and suspended, like life is holding its breath. When I first heard the word cancer, I moved fast. It’s how I cope. I’m a doer by nature, a “give me the next step and I’ll run with it” kind of person. So I

After my diagnosis, I chose a small circle. Not out of secrecy, but self-protection. Here’s how I told my husband and kids, set boundaries, and found steady, simple support.