The Emotional Side of Managing Endometrial Cancer

As Mariah Carey once sang, “you’ve got me feeling emotions, deeper than I’ve ever dreamed of.” She was singing about a romantic relationship, but did I apply these wise thoughts to my own cancer journey? Absolutely.

In May of 2022, most of the United States was reveling in returning to a bit of normalcy after the early days of the Covid-19 global pandemic. I had just turned 40 and was ready to celebrate! Little did I know that less than 3 weeks later, I would be diagnosed with endometrial cancer.

I knew that as an adoptee, I would not have access to critical hereditary and biological information that many people have when making decisions about their cancer treatment plans and overall health management. I pressed my phone to my ear and listened to what my OBGYN was telling me - referral to gynecologic oncologist, treatment, 5% of cells, but I also disassociated; what did this mean for me? One of my biggest fears (besides dying of a heart attack on a plane), being diagnosed with cancer - was coming true.

How would I handle this unknown territory?

I called my immediate family to tell them - my Dad, my brother, my closest aunt and a few friends. When I emerged from my work’s conference room in tears, a co-worker immediately took me out for a little retail therapy. Nothing could be done immediately, but maybe a plushie from Line Friends would help.

The next few months would certainly change my life. Luckily, I had a decent therapist who I had been speaking with regularly for years (my Dad lost quite a bit of money in a Social Security scam and I was the one to handle all of that mess, but that’s for another story) to help me through it all. Her support for my mental health in these months was crucial to supporting the spinning wheel of feelings I was going through.

Growing up in an Asian household, mental health was not always a priority - but I found that therapy was helpful after my adoptive Mom passed away, so that encouraged me to find a therapist to deal with the burdens of the eldest child and only daughter (that care-taking role we tend to fall into).

Once I started treatment, new challenges surfaced

I became vigilant about masking, to protect my immune system from Covid-19, RSV, m-pox, and any other viruses that could drastically alter my recovery process. I would now (and still) wear a KN-95 or KN-94 mask in all indoor places, except my home & take Covid-19 tests regularly.

I followed the science, I read the reports, I found other cancer survivors and long Covid individuals to create a support system. Sometimes I doubted myself and leaned on these friends and support groups to help me level set and calm my anxieties - yes, you should wear a mask; yes, asking a friend to test before you grab a meal is not too much of an ask, most importantly, I learned to set boundaries and ask for what I wanted.

Sadly, the xenophobia created during the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic affected me physically and emotionally. As an East Asian woman wearing a mask, I was continually harassed on the MTA and yelled at randomly on the street. I knew I was making the best choice for me, but it also created so much anxiety about going places on my own.

Finding different ways to communicate with people

I found a cute button on Etsy that had a cute, pink cartoon heart wearing a mask that said “I wear a mask because my immune system sucks.” Funny how when I wear this button (more often in the winter, on my jacket), more people leave me alone - the non-verbal cue is so helpful. What is more triggering to people: the mask? Or the Asian person wearing a mask? I may never know, as I can’t just erase my race.

As I near my 2 year anniversary of being in remission, I am still challenged by family members asking “how long are you immunocompromised?” or “Why do you keep masking?” which helps me realize the importance of chosen family - those friends who just test or mask without me having to ask. It’s a small sigh of relief.

I still receive looks or sometimes people say “you’ve got to be kidding me!” when I ask people who are unmasked to wait for another elevator or to give up a seat on the MTA - this may go on for a while, but it’s made me a stronger person. I’ve memorized my script:

• Hello! I’m going through cancer treatment.
• Could I sit in the disabled seating section?
• Do you have a mask?
• Would you mind waiting for the next elevator?

More difficulties and changes

In addition to all of this, my Dad passed away suddenly during my radiation treatment and my therapist suddenly started missing my appointments with no notification. Thankfully, I was able to find a new therapist, who has been a lifesaver - she’s there when I need her, listens intently and is logically affirming when I need it.

All-in-all, I would highly recommend finding a support system that’s right for you: family, chosen family, friends, a cancer support network, therapy, just something that works for you. People, even strangers, will say “oh, you’re so strong” or “so brave,” but ultimately it’s you and only you that can make the decision of how to handle your own cancer journey and to come out of it the best way you know how.