“When we opened you up we found . . .”

I hate the way these sentences start. They never end with something like this:

“. . . a trip for four to Europe! You’ll spend 10 fabulous days on an Italian cruise ship and you’ll visit the beautiful cities of Venice, Bari, Olympia, Ephesus, Istanbul, and Dubrovnik, compliments of your genes.”

Nope. Mine went something like this:

“When we took out the [itty bitty] malignant tumor and clear margins on your previously perfect left breast, we also removed 12 of your lymph nodes and 7 nodes had cancer in them.”

The very first thought that went through my head was “I’m going to lose my hair.”

Vain? Yep. I’d rather have the trip to Europe, thank you very much.

I was 36 years old, happily married, with terrific friends, a new house, and a new job, and I certainly didn’t have time for any of this. This was my bold outer voice talking.

My scared inner voice said I was going to die, just like my mom. She was 37 when she was diagnosed and had a radical mastectomy and reconstruction. Then her breast cancer metastasized and she lost her life at the young age of 47, when I was 25. Was this fate? Like mother, like daughter? I look just like her. I act a lot like her. And I now had cancer. Like hers?

Over the next several months, this is what I went through:

1. •27 weeks of aggressive chemotherapy, and, yes, I lost my hair 13 days after my first treatment.
   

2. •A host of side effects, including my veins closing up and not taking the drugs anymore, which necessitated emergency surgery to install a port in my chest.
   

3. •Waking up every day wondering if I was going to die.
   

4. •Waking up in the middle of the night crying, “Why me?”
   

5. •37 days of radiation, including eight “prison tattoos” at no extra charge.
   

6. •Neuropathy (loss of all sense of feeling) in my arms, hands, legs, feet, and toes.
   

7. •Gaining 40 pounds.
   

8. •Losing friends who couldn’t handle my disease.
   

Those are the bad things that went along with my diagnosis. I wanted to get them out of the way at the beginning of this story, because—believe it or not—the things that have come of my experience are not all bad. And while at first it seemed like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, by the end I found the light brighter than I ever could have expected.

I have a new appreciation for beauty. Not the beauty of perfection, but the beauty of the real world. I like to think I’m a good photographer and I’ve always loved taking pictures. Some of my subjects you’ll appreciate; others you might think are crazy: a majestic oak tree in the middle of a sun-drenched field, the setting sun glowing over the Pacific, a lavender rose from my husband’s garden, my kitten sleeping on my dog, French onion soup served in a Bermuda onion, a spider in its dewy web in the early dawn light, an elderly couple walking down the street holding hands. Now I take so many pictures that I bore the best of my friends: “Hey, look at the 15 shots I took of this amazing spider web!” I don’t even like spiders. Why do I do this? Because I see the world differently than I used to. The world is brand new to me and everywhere I look there is beauty.

As I walk in a forest, delighting in Mother Nature’s charms, the tree that stands out as the most beautiful to me is the one that has been struck by lightning and has emerged ever more grand. I am like this tree—I have been hit hard but I’m more beautiful than ever.

When it came to relationships, my illness, as my grandmother would say, “cleaned out the cobwebs.” I now know whom I can count on and whom I cannot. I was so hurt and confused when some of my friends disappeared during my illness. But I’ve realized that it wasn’t me—it was them. And I really am okay with it. Cancer strengthened the fantastic relationships I had, and produced some lovely ones I never would have had otherwise.

My relationship with my husband has grown tenfold. I loved him so much the day I married him that I didn’t think I could possibly love him more. But 20 years later, with him walking beside me through this passage of life, we are stronger and more intimate than ever.

And, surprisingly, cancer opened doors I didn’t even know were there. While I was down for the count (as I like to refer to it), I watched a lot of TV. I couldn’t focus longer than an hour (love that chemobrain) so I couldn’t watch and retain a whole movie. Since Ellen DeGeneres’ show wasn’t on then, my daytime-TV choices were limited. I ended up watching lots of decorating shows on HGTV and Discovery Channel.

Thanks to this training, I have what I call a B.C. in Design. Breast cancer put me on the couch long enough to learn new painting techniques, which colors and fabrics go with which, what layers are, how to produce an expensive look inexpensively, what the best sheet thread-count is—a plethora of design knowledge. I started redesigning the homes of my very tolerant friends, and now I have a little side business and I’m getting paid to do this thing I love.

And I painted my own living room red—six coats of hot-rod red. I had always wanted to, and breast cancer prompted me to make sure I did it. Every time I walk into my living room, it makes me smile. I love getting compliments on it, and once my husband got over his initial shock, he loved it too.

Before cancer, I would avoid the eyes of anyone wearing a bandana or a baseball cap, or I would say a silent little prayer that they were going to be okay. It reminded me too much of my mom. But now, having come out on the other side of it, I know that all the advances in medicine give them a much better chance of being okay. I go out of my way to talk about my cancer and my story—in the library, the grocery store, the mall, or my doctor’s office, and now in the books I’m writing.

        I want to let you know that there is a life AFTER breast cancer. It won’t be the exactly the same life, but in some ways it will be a better life. I just passed the four-year mark from the date of my surgery. I don’t think about cancer every day, but I do think of all the beautiful things and people around me.

You need to think about what you really want to do in life, and do it. Planning a trip to Europe during my treatment gave me something to look forward to. Painting my living room made me happy. Book a trip to somewhere you’ve always wanted to go. Smell the flowers. Take your daughter for her first pedicure. Have lunch with your husband on Fridays. Go watch your son play soccer.

I traveled to Europe (do you want to see the 873 pictures I took?). I painted my living room hot-rod red. What are you going to do?

Hayley Townley lives in San Luis Obispo, California with her husband, Tim. They have two dogs, Lucy and Stella, and a cat, Jazmine. She is currently writing a humorous and insightful book on her cancer experience. Hayley is a successful Real Estate Broker for Comet Realty and is also a spokesmodel for Cleavage Creek Cellars. She sells headwear and handmade greeting cards for cancer survivors through her website, www.CancerSurvivorStuff.com. She co-founded a support group for young survivors, and recently discovered she loves to act. She also throws terrific parties!