Baring it All , livre ebook

Manuscripts - Amy Baocy

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161 pages

English

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What happens when a serial optimist faces breast cancer?

When Amy Banocy was diagnosed with breast cancer it challenged everything she knew about herself. Baring it All is an honest and vulnerable memoir, which speaks to women, caretakers, and medical professionals who want to experience a personal account of life with breast cancer.

In this book, you will discover the candid and raw emotions Amy navigated during what she refers to as her “breast cancer f*ckery”. Baring It All is an opportunity to learn more about what it’s like to walk the marathon that is breast cancer. You’ll read stories about:

What Amy did to gain control when she started losing her hair from chemotherapy
The emotional experience of telling her three sons she had breast cancer
The agony of trying to decide whether to lose both of her breasts or to save one
The never-ending fear and worry cancer has left in its aftermath

Baring it All is a must-read if you enjoy firsthand stories about human emotions and resiliency or want to better understand the emotions one might feel throughout a cancer diagnosis.

Sujets

Santé et bien-être

Santé du quotidien

Personal Memoirs

Breast Cancer

Medical

Médecine

Oncology

Cancer

Informations

Publié par	Manuscripts
Date de parution	21 janvier 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9798889268000
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Yoke and Abundance Press
Copyright © 2023 Amy Banocy
All rights reserved.
BARING IT ALL: A MEMOIR
Reflections of My Breast Cancer Journey F*ckery
ISBN 979-8-88926-600-6 Paperback
ISBN 979-8-88926-800-0 Digital Ebook
Contents
Author’s Note
A Love Letter to Myself
Mammograms (11/12/20–12/10/20)
Biopsies (12/24/20)
The Waiting (12/24/20–12/30/20)
Shit Just Got Real (12/30/20)
Claustrophobia and Sunflowers (1/5/21)
I Didn’t See That Coming! (1/6/21)
What about My Kids?
SUPPORT
They’re Just Boobs!
Plastics
Journal Entry (1/27/21)
Surgery (2/16/21)
Post-Surgery
Pathology (2/25/21–2/26/21)
Journal Entry (2/26/21)
Office of Oncology (3/1/21)
All the Chemo Prep
Chemo Here We Come (3/16/21–3/17/21)
A Very Long Day (3/17/21)
The Weeks in Between
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
Chemo Continues
Chemo on My Birthday? (4/26/21)
A Virus and a Birthday Surprise (4/27/21–5/5/21)
Spirit (5/8/21–5/19/21)
Moving Forward, or Is It Backward? (5/19/21)
Support!
Last TC Chemo (8/3/21)
Surgery Number Two (9/14/21)
Clean (9/21/21)
Radiation : The Technical Shit
Radiation : The Emotional Burns (11/3/21–12/14/21)
Forged by Fire (12/12/21)
The Wondering and Turning Within (2/10/22)
Last HP Treatment (3/30/22)
Aftershock (12/28/21)
Photos from the Fuckery
A Love Letter to My Family
Acknowledgments
Appendix
To Andrew, Jacob, and Zachary:
Always stay true to you and remember you are capable of doing anything you dream.
Author’s Note
I was a different woman before cancer. One I now know hid behind a facade.
My parents love to tell the story of when I was on the swim team in elementary school. I could easily be spotted in the lap lane, not because of my speedy breaststroke but rather because every time I came up for a breath, I had a huge smile on my face. Throughout my life, I became known for that smile.
I grew up in a safe and loving household, and like most families, we had our struggles too.
While my mom and my sister, Leigh, have a better relationship now, it was very tense when we were growing up. At times there was loud arguing, doors slamming, and words spoken they’d regret. When an argument erupted, my coping mechanism was to escape. I’d run into my room, close the door, face‐plant onto my bed, and bury my head under the pillows. The summer before fourth grade we moved to a new house. I can vividly remember turning my closet into my new refuge. I created a “room” in my closet, complete with a sleeping bag, a pillow, a little table and chair, and paper and pens. We made wooden clocks in seventh grade shop class, and mine became part of my closet “room” decor. When the vindictive words began spewing from my mom’s and sister’s mouths, I hid in this safe haven and scribbled my rage on the page. When they tired of arguing, or slammed enough doors to satisfy themselves, there would be a cease-fire. My dad would talk to my sister and console her. Eventually, he would knock on my door and come check on me. I would smile and say, “I’m fine.” I can only imagine what this was all like for him. One daughter wounded by the words of her own mother. The other creating a sanctuary away from the poison. In time, I’d make my way out of the closet to comfort my sister and my mom, each in their own bedrooms.
I continued this pattern into adulthood, albeit without the actual closet. No matter my age and no matter the situation, I’d wait out the storm and smile when it passed, never revealing my true feelings. I smiled because it made me feel safe. I smiled because it hid my pain, my fears, and my tenderness. Being the happy one, the people pleaser, was at times a gift and at times my armor.
Derek and I married in 2001. In 2020 we found ourselves in couples therapy, not for the first time. One of the key things we unearthed was I had built up a wall of resentment over the nineteen years. My lack of understanding how to argue effectively or express feelings I considered “negative,” basically anything other than love or happiness, led me to hold all these feelings inside. I didn’t want to rock the boat, so I avoided conflict like the plague.
I describe “Before‐cancer Amy” as a serial optimist, seldom a worrier, and blissful. My personal and professional life were both imprinted with these traits.
For years, I have practiced the Law of Attraction—manifesting my desires and using the power of positivity to create a fulfilling life. This practice wholeheartedly reinforces my beliefs and supports my outlook on life. In more recent years, I expanded my knowledge through books, TED talks, and online courses. I submersed myself in this work.
I believed in what I was learning and wanted to share it with others. I created and taught a few virtual courses with the mission of helping others cultivate a happiness mind-set and lead a life of abundance. I marketed myself as “The Happiness Guru” and began to book speaking engagements.
My whole world had become about optimism and spreading joy. When challenging situations would arise in my life, or others’, I was the one who could find something good in it all. I had the attitude that everything would work out, and worrying was a waste of time. It only infused negative energy into the circumstances.
Why was “Before‐cancer Amy” so positive? Was it in my DNA, my genes, or was it something I’d picked up along the way? Was it because I was a people pleaser, peacemaker, and conflict avoider throughout life? Likely, it’s a blend of these along with my experiences and perspectives.
I figured I would take all this knowledge and maintain my sunny disposition throughout cancer. Sometimes I did, especially in the beginning. On social media I declared I would “embrace cancer,” which meant I’d make the best of the experiences that come with diagnosis and treatment and try to find even the slightest essence of positivity in them. On days when cancer became too much to handle, I promised to remind myself of all I had to be grateful for, find the good even in the bad, and shit like that. I’d convince myself out of the negativity (or so I thought).
As things got crazy and I was hit with unexpected curveballs, I found it hard to keep up the positive mind-set I’d always relied on. This was very difficult for me to grapple with and understand. I then met other women with breast cancer who, like me, struggled with the shame and guilt of not always being happy. They too worried about how not being 100 percent positive might impact their health, and they also didn’t have a place to release all their emotions. That is when I knew this book needed to be birthed.
Approximately one in eight women will develop breast cancer in their lifetime (National Breast Cancer Foundation, Inc. 2022).
One in eight!
I heard this statistic many times and never gave it much thought.
I had annual mammograms and never thought twice about what the results might show.
In 2012, I spent the weekend of my thirty‐fifth birthday participating in the Avon Breast Cancer Walk. We walked thirty‐nine miles over two days and I remember thinking I was walking in support of “other” women. During the opening ceremony they shared a shocking statistic: On average, every two minutes a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer in the United States (National Breast Cancer Foundation, Inc. 2022). As a way to demonstrate this, a volunteer placed a pink sash on a random walker every two minutes throughout the walk. At the end of the two days, we were able to see how many women had been “diagnosed.” I received a sash. I wore it, and still I never thought cancer would happen to me.
I never thought I’d become the one in eight.
I never thought I’d become the “other” I had walked for.
I never thought this would happen to me, just as so many others never think it will happen to them. Yet, here we are.
At age forty‐three, in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and my life flipped upside down. Breast cancer has forever changed me physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally.
What follows in this book is my personal story with cancer. You’ll notice I do not capitalize the c, as it gives it more undeserved power. I tell it straight, no filters, and I do swear. So if that’s not for you, you may want to put this book down right now. (No hard feelings, says the recovering people pleaser.)
Many people refer to their cancer experience as a journey and this has been a journey for sure, a marathon of sorts. Somewhere along the way I began referring to this journey as “cancer fuckery” because, to me, that’s exactly what it is. Cancer has fucked with my body and my mind for too long now and I have a feeling, in some ways, it will continue to do so for the rest of my life.
I have a secret—the book in your hands is not the first version of Baring It All . I initially wrote a guidebook for women with breast cancer. I was proud of my work and shared it with early readers before it would be printed. Thankfully, a couple of them had the heart and bravery to tell me, “This is good if it’s what you want to publish but this isn’t what you said you wanted to write.” They were correct.
A few days later, while meditating, it occurred to me why I had written that version first. It was my mask, covered in fluff and positivity bullshit with a vibe of, “You got this, girl!” I thought my story wasn’t enough to make an impact, and teaching and sharing tips would be the best way to help others. I minimized my worth and my voice and hid behind a costume of serial optimism instead. That guidebook had “Before‐cancer Amy” all over it.
Something inside me has always felt that if I took off the mask and revealed deeper emotions, I would lose the way people loved me. They loved my smile, talked about it, and gave me attention for it. I recognized when I felt difficult emotions but couldn’t express them, or rather wouldn’t allow myself to. Smiling, being happy, and not speaking my trut