"Warrior," as defined by the Oxford American Dictionary is a "brave or experienced soldier or fighter."
When we think of a warrior we may imagine a person who is willing to fight and even die for a nation, a cause, or for the lives of others. Many are familiar with the heroism of the 300 Spartans at the battle of Thermopylae. They fought for time - to delay the inevitable - just as I do. Their fight symbolizes courage against overwhelming odds. The difference between warriors such as these and myself is that they volunteered to die. My death, without the discovery of a cure, is an involuntary certainty.
I represent 30% of women diagnosed with breast cancer. We 30% are diagnosed with metastatic, or stage IV, breast cancer.
It is human nature to fight for one's own life. Based on this qualification alone I would not consider myself deserving of this title. However, today I redefine what it is to be a warrior. My ultimate sacrifice lies in the act of living rather than that of dying. Living whilst dying, you might say.
I am a warrior for time. My battle involves remaining alive for others, while simultaneously hoping for a cure and balancing that hope with the responsibility of accepting and planning for the possibility that it will not be discovered in time. In this sense the test of my bravery is and will remain undergoing medical intervention and continuing the fight while my quality of life diminishes. It is also manifest in my willingness to live with uncertainty and face the grief and pain experienced by those I love.
As a 36 year old mother of three very young children (my oldest just turned six) I have had to work through the difficult and painful process of redefining the concepts of "warrior" and "survivor" as they apply to my experience with breast cancer. When I was first diagnosed (and yet unaware that the cancer had spread) I suffered through the process of acceptance –
acceptance of the physical hardships I would have to undergo. I know that many women present in this audience share this painful experience.
I felt like a warrior - ready for battle. Ready to earn the emotional and physical scars of a survivor. I had only a vague notion of why or what I was fighting - I only knew that in the end it was for my life.
Shortly after my initial diagnosis, it was realized that cancer cells had already aggressively traveled throughout my body and had ensconced themselves within my bones. I was surprised and confused to learn that my "battle plan" had drastically changed. It took a detour from being aggressive and urgent – seeming instead to have become more of a slow motion defeat than a heated battle.
My emotions evolved from resenting the fact that I would lose my breasts and hair to becoming resentful and jealous of those who did. At least *they* had a war to wage. I felt like a soldier -who armed, trained and prepared for battle – arrives to a field that has already been lost.
So I redefined warrior. I had to learn about *my* war, and accept that my fight is fought very differently. However, I am a warrior nonetheless.
I fight for time. Time for my family. Time for my children to grow older. Time for them to collect more memories of me, and perhaps develop stronger coping skills and maturity that will help them navigate their grief. Fighting for time. Hoping that in my time my cure will be discovered.
I am honored to be recognized as a warrior or, by definition, a "brave or experienced soldier or fighter." I hope that I am brave, and that I will always find the strength to remain so. As for experience – it is gained daily.
