Natasha Bierbrier, Executive Director of Oncology Services at Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center, shared on LinkedIn:
“There is something strangely comforting about being somewhere that doesn’t flinch at cancer.
We’ve spent much of this week inside a cancer center as my husband prepares to begin a clinical trial. There have been scans, labs, appointments, waiting rooms, and more labs. But one of the things I’ve found myself thinking about most has nothing to do with the treatment itself.
Here, cancer is normal.
This week, I watched two women who had never met start talking about their diagnoses like old friends. One mentioned that her cancer had spread to her lungs.There was no awkward silence.
No one flinched. The conversation simply moved to what came next. Her doctor had told her there were still options. That moment stayed with me. Outside of these walls, words like 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳, 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, and 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 can feel enormous. Here, they’re simply part of the vocabulary. The person beside you getting blood drawn understands. The person across from you waiting for a scan understands.
Nobody needs an explanation for why your plans changed overnight, why you’re waiting for another test, or why a single phone call can change your entire week.
And somehow, being surrounded by so much cancer hasn’t made me feel more hopeless. It’s made me feel less alone.Cancer has a way of making life feel incredibly abnormal. Then you walk into a place filled with people living some version of this experience, and suddenly you’re not the exception anymore. You’re just one person among many, each carrying a different version of something incredibly hard.
Of course, it’s a community none of us would ever choose to join.
But once you’re here, there is something profoundly comforting about being surrounded by people who understand a part of your life that usually requires so much explaining.For once, cancer isn’t the thing that makes us different.
It’s the thing everyone in the room understands.”