Believing In My Body Again After Cancer

I was only 37 when cancer entered my life. My daughter was an active two-year-old, my consulting business was as busy as ever, and I had a beautiful home, friends, and family. My life was full, and somewhat hectic at times. The diagnosis brought much of my life to a screeching halt. I had little choice in the matter. I was hospitalized for three months for treatment and was not allowed in public places for 100 days after the bone marrow transplant. During this time, the leukemia, chemotherapy, transplant, isolation, exhaustion, and pain took their toll on my mind and body.

After the most intense part of the battle was over, I quickly realized I had another challenge ahead: recovery. Consumed with survival and defeating the cancer, I hadn’t stopped to think about what life would be like afterward. My body was reduced to ground zero, and it felt foreign to me. Nothing was the same. I had no hair, my skin was sallow and pasty, food was still unappealing, and digestion was difficult. The strength I once relied on to keep up with my toddler daughter was just a memory. Most days, I felt like a gray lump, exhausted and unable to complete the simplest tasks. I thought I was at my lowest point.

During the first year, I was diagnosed with GVHD (Graft Versus Host Disease). This was always a possibility and somewhat desirable, as it’s a side effect of the bone marrow transplant and works to prevent the cancer from returning. It’s almost like having an autoimmune disease. The GVHD affected many parts of my body, but the attack on the fascia of my muscles was most devastating.

I won’t delve into the ups and downs of fighting GVHD here (that’s for another blog post), but I will say this: the attack on my muscle fascia made any physical activity painful. Even walking was a monumental challenge. I began to dread occasions where I knew I’d need to be on my feet all day. A trip to the mall, a day at Disney, a hike in the forest—just the thought of these activities filled me with anxiety.

Now, about trusting my body again. Five years had passed since my diagnosis, and I was still dealing with GVHD. It had lessened somewhat but remained a daily challenge. Up to this point, I had not subjected my body to any extreme physical challenge. One of my friends suggested going to the gym. At first, I recoiled. A gym? Me? It seemed absurd. Walking was still difficult. How was I going to handle the rigors of a gym? Yet, something in me knew I needed to try. My body hadn’t felt like my own for so long. I yearned to regain control and not be held captive by the aftermath of cancer.

She suggested a Zumba class. I had heard of Zumba but didn’t know much about it. My friend explained that it’s like a dance class set to Latin rhythms. It sounded intriguing. Growing up, I danced until I went to college. It was once a passion of mine. Why couldn’t it be again?

So, I geared up and attended my first Zumba class. From the moment class began, I felt the music start to lift me. There was excitement in the air. It was like a party. Everyone was having fun, and it didn’t matter if you weren’t following the instructor perfectly. I began to let go. My preconceived notions of what my body could and couldn’t do started to fade. I was doing it. My feet were moving to the rhythm. I was in control, not the cancer or GVHD. I was beginning to reclaim ownership of my body.

I won’t sugarcoat the initial difficulty of challenging my body with Zumba. Some days, I had to take a break. There were times when my GVHD would flare up, reminding me that I still had a long way to go. But, I knew I had found something that worked for me and my limitations.

As you might have guessed, I became hooked on Zumba. Eventually, I attended classes five days a week, sometimes six. It became my obsession. I had finally found the outlet I desperately needed to regain control of my physical health. After a couple of years of classes, I decided I wanted to become an instructor. It didn’t matter that I was 45 years old or a former cancer patient with no previous desire to be a fitness instructor. I was determined to do it.

I got my certification and applied to teach at the gym. And then, the magic happened. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be leading others on their fitness journeys. But there I was, leading a class and loving every minute of it. Eight years later, I still love it and look forward to every class I teach. It was, and still is, the biggest middle finger I could ever give to cancer.

I would be lying if I said there aren’t times when my GVHD flares up again. It will likely always be present to some extent. However, it no longer prevents me from pushing my limits. I recognize that this journey is unique to me; your battle may be longer and more challenging, but that’s the reality of dealing with cancer and its aftermath.

I want to leave you with this final thought: Wherever you are in your recovery journey, grant yourself the grace of patience and understanding for your body’s abilities. It’s natural to wish for everything to return to normal. It took me five years to discover my new normal, and yours may come sooner or later. When that opportunity arises and you start to feel the green shoots breaking through the barren ground, give yourself permission to try. You might just surprise yourself.