Cancer is never a blessing. But it broke my bad habit of not telling my truth. | Opinion

Do you know anyone who does everything by the book to stay healthy and is a little holier-than-thou about it? That was me. Then I got breast cancer. Goodbye, holier-than-thou.

Yes, you can exercise, eat right, and follow the rules like a stickler yet still get cancer. When I got my devastating diagnosis in 2019, the universe screamed in my ear: “I’m in charge now, Sister.”

After three surgeries, six brutal rounds of chemotherapy, and a full month of daily radiation, I was shattered, exhausted, bald, depressed, and angry as hell. How could this happen to me and my family? Why did we have to suffer like this? I had and still have no answers.

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But despite my harrowing experience, and as hard as it is to admit, I have changed in a way that is an improvement. And, no, this is not a “cancer was a blessing” story. Cancer is never a blessing. Cancer and the ensuing treatment is the worst thing that ever happened to me (and I’ve lived through and am living through terrible times).

It’s hard for me to give cancer credit for anything, but here’s what it did for me: It made me more honest. How? On my sickest days during chemo, I realized that since there was a chance I may not have much time left, there’s no sense holding back.

Despite having a fairly outspoken personality my whole life, I bit my tongue many times, deciding: “Oh, don’t say what you think, people won’t like you,” or, “Don’t be too candid because it may cause confrontation.” I was diplomatic to a fault. (Some people in my life may dispute that self-assessment, but at this point who cares what they think?) While I didn’t like my timidity, I found it hard to change.

But since cancer, I don’t have time for diplomacy. I try not to insult, get loud or too emotional (though I was raised in a household with my Italian grandmother who was known to throw her shoes at people who angered her). But I say what needs to be said. If I disagree with your politics, for instance, I’m telling you. I won’t throw a shoe at you though, I promise.

If I disagree with your politics, I’m telling you. I won’t throw a shoe at you though, I promise.

I occasionally raise my voice and curse, but oddly, in many ways I’ve become kinder. When my adult children make decisions I disagree with, I state my feelings but because I’ve comfortably said my piece, I also have the confidence to then say, “Okay, do what you need to do and I’ll have your back.” And if people are unkind to me I put myself in their shoes. Maybe something is wrong in their lives and they’re having a bad day.

I’ve become a better listener and more open to dissenting opinions but I push back when that opinion is far afield from my views. It’s all part of telling the truth. While the new me may cause the end of some relationships, maybe those weren’t honest relationships after all.

Age also has something to do with this “new” me. I’m 67, and as a person matures and sees the last part of their life ahead of them — cancer or no cancer — they might become more vocal.

So don’t be hard on yourself if you’d like to be more honest but haven’t gotten there yet. It takes time, experience, and practice. Hopefully for you, it won’t take a cancer diagnosis.

Claire Gawinowicz was diagnosed with breast cancer in March 2019. She lives and writes in Oreland with her husband of 37 years. After a long and varied career she’s now retired and considers her greatest success her two adult children, who bring her joy (mostly) every day.

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