#JustBreathe: A Cancer Survivor’s Journal — The Breaths We Hold and the Breaths We Get Back.

Monica Lotter – Global Hero of Hope

Monica Lotter, CANSA Global Hero of Hope, offers a moving reminder that even amidst fear, waiting and uncertainty, we can still find moments to breathe, live and be grateful.

“Take a deep breath in … and hold it.”

 The voice inside the MRI tells me what to do. I breathe in and hold it. Around me, the machine sounds as though it is breaking down. It murmurs, rattles, crackles and shakes. Every sound seems louder in the confined space.

I need to breathe!

Then comes the voice again.

“You can breathe again.”

I exhale.

 As I lie there, trying not to think about where I am or how tightly I am tucked into this machine, a thought suddenly runs through my mind.

 I have been holding my breath for much longer than just these last few seconds.

 Since my first cancer diagnosis in December 2008, I have become accustomed to holding my breath. Not only in the CT scanner or the MRI, but with every blood test, mammogram, doctor’s appointment, treatment and surgery.

 I hold my breath while I wait. I hold it while I wonder. I hold it while I pray.

 And then, when the results come back and the news is good, I finally exhale. A long, deep, grateful breath.

 I made it through another test. Another hurdle. Another moment of uncertainty.

 And then I prepare myself for the next one.

 For years, this has been my rhythm: hold my breath, wait, exhale, be grateful, and carry on.

 Until, fourteen years later, in March 2022, I received my second cancer diagnosis.

 This time, the exhale did not come so easily.

 My world changed again. Suddenly, every breath felt precious. Slowly, carefully, I began to breathe a little more freely, one day at a time. I became grateful for every morning I opened my eyes, every ordinary moment, every day I was given.

 I learnt not to take breathing for granted.

 And yet, here I am, lying inside another machine, waiting for answers.

 This week, I realise, I have hardly taken a proper breath at all.

 The fear has crept back in. The familiar questions circle my mind. What if they find something? What if the cancer is back? What if … ?

 I try to lie still. I listen to the machine. I follow the instructions. But somewhere beneath the noise, I am praying.

 Please, let there be no cancer in my body.

 And then comes the waiting. The hardest part, perhaps. The time between the test and the answer, when your mind can take you to places you never wanted to visit.

 If you have walked this road, you know that feeling. The waiting room may be empty, the appointment may be over, and you may be sitting in the comfort of your own home, but inside, you are still waiting. Still holding your breath.

 And then, finally, the wonderful news comes.

 No cancer.

 And just like that, I can breathe again.

 Deep breaths. Thankful breaths. The kind that seem to reach right down into your soul.

 I know that good news does not erase the fear. It does not undo the years of uncertainty or guarantee that I will never have to face another difficult appointment. I know there may be more tests and more waiting in the future.

 But today, I can exhale.

 Today, I can let my shoulders drop, unclench my hands and allow myself to feel the relief I have been longing for.

 Today, I can breathe.

 And perhaps that is something we need to remind one another of as cancer patients, survivors and caregivers: we are allowed to breathe between the appointments. We are allowed to live between the tests. We are allowed to find joy in the ordinary moments, even when uncertainty is part of our story.

 We do not have to wait for the next set of results to give ourselves permission to live today.

 So, if you are holding your breath right now, waiting for a scan, a blood test, a doctor’s appointment or news about someone you love, I wish I could sit beside you and gently remind you:

 Take a breath.

 Just one.

 You do not have to solve tomorrow today. You do not have to be brave every second. And you do not have to pretend that you are not afraid.

 Breathe in.

 Breathe out.

 And when the waiting feels endless, remember that you are still here, in this moment, and you deserve to live it.

 Today, I am breathing deeply. Today, I am grateful. Today, I am here.

 And for now, that is enough.