Diagnosis: Afterparty

There’s a lot of mental health discourse in the cancer survivor community on the topic of mourning the life you had before. Grieving what cancer took, who you used to be, the body you used to know, and the future you imagined. And I wholly believe that it’s absolutely necessary to grieve just that; cancer swoops in and immediately rearranges your entire universe. Allowing yourself to sit with your feelings and experience that sadness will help you let go, and move past the trauma that comes along with such a major diagnosis like this. I completely get it, I believe it, and I’m an all-star advocate for this type of thinking- in any kind of heavy situation, cancer or not.

However, I’m finding it hard to resonate with this personally. It’s not that I didn’t like myself before, but I find it hard to grieve who I was before, the body I had before, and the future that the old me was on the path to building. When the news of my diagnosis hit, it only took about a day to release the goals I had originally set for 2026. But once chemo started and I had a set schedule, within a week I had rebuilt those goals in a way that makes more sense now. In general I like who I am better now. I genuinely appreciate what my body can do for me better now. My future is more focused on things that truly matter. I can honestly say cancer has made me a better person.

On the most superficial level, I’m finally being consistent with my health. I’m eating so much fresh produce, I’ve cut out meat and dairy, and I’m really prescriptive with my calorie, protein, and fiber intakes. I’m more consistent with my running, and I’m finally building back in strength training. I’m getting stronger and faster because of cancer.

I’m taking better, and more gentle care of myself. For example, rather than attack the steroid-induced-acne (oh yeah, did I mention that surprise side effect?) with harsh treatments like salicylic acid and benzoyl peroxide like the old me would’ve, I’m treating my skin barrier with gentle oatmeal-based creams. Moisturizers. Soothing serums. I’m more gentle about washing my hair. I’ve always had the kind of thin hair that leaves the shower drain clogged, but I’m actually using better products & scalp care. My hair is actually stronger and falling out less than it used to with the old me. I’m taking care of myself like I would take care of someone I love, because of cancer.

I’m more aware of my mental health than ever before, and taking steps daily to maintain a great headspace. Sure, the pre-chemo drugs (both steroids and Ativan), running, and writing this blog all contribute to my strong mental fortitude, but I’m learning how to allow myself grace on depressing days better than ever before. When you acknowledge difficulty with kindness, rather than judgement, there’s science proving that you activate your parasympathetic nervous system. I feel that calming system in action daily now, and am able to process discomfort more rationally. My cocoon of optimism no longer feels like it’s made of glass; I’m laying a stronger foundation each day, brick by brick. I actually make space for my mental health because of cancer.

I communicate with my family a lot more, and a lot more vulnerably too. The communication in my marriage has gotten to such a crystal clear level, I find it hard to believe most marriages achieve this level of conversational perfection. My relationships have gotten a lot better because of cancer.

Do I like that it took being dropped off on Death’s street (I won’t say Death’s doorstep, because it certainly does not feel that way, or that close) to get my life together like this? Absolutely not; if anything because of the fear everyone around me has to deal with now that I’m here. But personally, I don’t mind it. While I wouldn’t call this “rock bottom” because there’s an unspoken responsibility that “rock bottom” is a place you get to due to your own choices (and not mutated DNA in your cells losing control and replicating irresponsibly on their own), there’s similarities in that it took me getting to this place to really pull it all together seamlessly.

So it’s hard to mourn who I used to be, or grieve a future I hadn’t fully fleshed out quite yet. That old Katrina is going off into her timeline to live a life I’m not meant to live. Maybe she never gets consistent with running again, and feels remorseful for the rest of her life. Perhaps she winds up with a communication breakdown that causes important relationships around her to fall. Maybe she gradually becomes even harder on herself, and her mental health gets the best of her. Whatever decision that split me into this new timeline with cancer somehow created my new favorite version of me. Because looking back, who I used to be was a person who wanted to be the person I’ve become. Consistent, gentle, open, peaceful, non-judgemental, and healthy. There’s nothing to mourn because cancer inadvertently course-corrected every aspect of my life, and it’s tough to be anything but grateful for that.

On a completely different note, last weekend I finally got out of the house to somewhere other than the hospital or grocery store! Jimmy and I trekked to DC to see some friends & enjoy the nice weather on the patio at Kiki. It was a bit more crowded than I’d prefer, but I did wear a mask- and it’s Friday and I haven’t caught anything yet. My immune system is still online!

The energy was beyond palpable, and obviously I got the itch to get back in the DJ booth. Now that I have a somewhat regular schedule in place for the next 10 chemo treatments (20 weeks, but who’s counting?), I’ve decided it’s time to mask up & start taking on some gigs (another creative outlet to add to the mental health toolkit). Starting next weekend, I’ll be back behind the decks after what was really only about a month hiatus. As the famed actor Joseph Gordon Levitt once said in the cinematic masterpiece “10 Things I Hate About You” in a line that’s been on repeat in my head for 25 years: