I've unwittingly pledged to a sorority that no one willingly rushes—yet its members hold their heads high with pride. My sister and mother donned their pins long before I understood the depth of what membership meant. This sorority's roster reads far too long, its ranks swelled by the common thread of cancer touching lives indiscriminately. Yet within this community, there's a boundless wealth of wisdom and hope—qualities I clung to as I navigated my own cancer journey.
In the weeks immediately following my diagnosis, I drew insight, comfort, and courage from conversations with family members who have weathered this storm before me. But beyond bloodlines, I've connected with four "sorority sisters" whose experiences have been beacons on my path. Among them were two women I'd never encountered till cancer narrowed our worlds last week, and another, a dear friend from Brazilian days. Despite time and space pushing us apart, cancer's visceral thread stitched us back together—a solidarity among survivors that knows no bounds.
The first sister I met, "A," stands as a living miracle, a victor who stared down a terrifying Stage IV prognosis thanks to a pioneering clinical trial. Under Dr. Jo Chien who guided my care, A not only battled back but reached out to share the story of her hope with me, a then-stranger. Our meeting, sprinkled with marvel over her resilience, grace, and renewed health, brought me a solace and gratitude.
Then, there was "S," whose pragmatism shone through every piece of advice. She's a titan in her own right, with a clear vision on integrating work as a therapeutic outlet amid the tumult of illness. A may have also climbed impressive heights, yet it was with S that talk of careers took flight. She navigated hair loss with a confidence I admired (if shaving's the path, embrace it), and the importance she placed on support for her children resonated deeply with mine, sparking a resolve in me to find a therapist attuned to oncology's unique trials. Action has always been my balm, yet S reminded me that feeling, too, is part of the healing process.
Thirdly, reconnecting with "S Brazil" was a cherished gift—a friend who echoed my life in so many ways during our sun-kissed Brazilian adventures. Now, years apart, we've paralleled yet again—each with three grown children and a personal tome of challenging trials. Her fifteen-year journey with our sorority and a heartfelt memoir borne amidst her battle while pregnant provided distinctions and appreciation for my own story. It's these unexpected silver linings amid cancer's chaos that rekindle old bonds, promising permanent fixtures in the evolving narrative of my life.
The fourth sister, affectionately dubbed "S HBS" for my alphabet's sake, brought with her a wealth of divergent experiences. She offered not only insights but a kinship in the struggle for mindfulness amidst a torrent of Type A instincts. Her counsel formulated a mantra, preaching patience and exploratory treatments, all while keeping laughter close as we danced around cancer's unpredictable pitches.
My reward for undergoing the port installation was an evening replete with the warmth of my San Francisco HBS girlfriends, fixtures of strength and joy during times of isolation. We raised a toast to birthdays, new beginnings, and the luxury of free-flowing laughter, all garnished with a hint of normalcy. As cancer threatened to script its narrative with my hair, I took solace in the promise of regrowth, buoyed by the arsenal of care tips from these incredible women.
To every sorority member who has extended a hand, a thought, a sliver of hope—I am beyond thankful. To those who volunteered their time and energy to walk this stretch of the path with me—your compassion leaves me speechless. And to "J and J," whose humor daily stitched joy unabashedly into the fabric of my life—my gratitude is immeasurable. To this entire community, whose love billows as a steadfast sail through choppy seas, I am profoundly grateful.