Ask Perrie: Looking for Clarity

What you’re describing makes so much sense. It can feel really disorienting when your medical team is offering reassurance and hope, while the people around you are reacting with fear, grief, or worst-case scenarios. It’s hard to feel grounded in your own reality when everyone else seems to be projecting a different one onto you.

One thing I think is important to remember is that many people hear the word “cancer” and immediately associate it with death, regardless of stage, prognosis, or treatment plan. Even for me, prior to being diagnosed, I had no idea that many types of cancer can actually be curable or more like a chronic disease. Most people simply are not educated on the nuances of cancer care. Early-stage breast cancer with an excellent prognosis is very different from advanced disease, but to someone outside the cancer world, those distinctions may blur together. Their reactions may come from fear, love, helplessness, or misunderstanding, but that does not make them experts on your future.

When it comes to your prognosis and medical reality, your oncology team is the most informed source. They are the people reviewing your scans, pathology, treatment response, and the data specific to your diagnosis. They have specific education and training that our social networks often do not have. And if you still feel uncertain or anxious, I want to normalize that many YAs continue to have questions even after getting a “good” prognosis. It’s completely okay to ask more questions, request clarification, or even seek a second opinion if that would help you feel more grounded in your care. There’s no wrong way to approach this; the most important thing is that you feel informed, supported, and able to trust the plan moving forward.

I also want to acknowledge how painful it can be when friends start treating you differently after a diagnosis. I have heard so many YA’s that navigating relationships with a cancer diagnosis can feel really hard. Some people experience ghosting, and sometimes other people become overly fragile around us. Sometimes they catastrophize. Sometimes they unintentionally make us carry their fear in addition to our own. It’s exhausting and difficult to navigate when you may already be having a plethora of your own feelings! 

You mentioned that your friends treat you like you’re already on your deathbed, and I wonder what specifically they’re doing that lands that way for you. Sometimes it can help to get really clear with ourselves about what feels supportive versus what feels overwhelming, intrusive, or discouraging. If people are talking to you like you’re fragile, planning “last experiences,” becoming a ‘grief tourist’, or acting like hope is unrealistic, it’s okay to push back on that. You are allowed to advocate for yourself here, and sometimes we have to advocate with our friends who honestly just may have no idea. Not that it excuses the pain that comes with this experience. 

It’s completely okay to say things like: “I know you care about me, but I really need people to follow my lead and trust my medical team right now.”

Or even: “I want support, but I don’t want to feel like I’m being mourned while I’m actively living my life.”

Now for your other two questions about how to live inside of survivorship or make plans with fear of recurrence. Cancer has a way of making people feel like they need certainty before they can fully live, but the truth is, none of us is guaranteed certainty. Cancer just forces that reality into the spotlight earlier and louder than most people experience. Fear of recurrence is absolutely real, and survivorship can be emotionally complicated in ways people don’t always talk about. A lot of survivors describe feeling pressure to “go back to normal” while internally carrying a completely different relationship with uncertainty, time, and their body. Learning how to live again after cancer is rarely one big breakthrough moment. Usually, it’s something that happens slowly over time. It’s rebuilding trust in yourself, your body, your future, and your ability to hold uncertainty without letting it consume your whole life.

I wish I had a cleaner roadmap for this part, but honestly, a lot of it comes down to practice. Practice making plans anyway. Practice letting yourself imagine a future anyway. Practice tolerating uncertainty without handing it complete control over your life. And over time, most people do find that it gets easier to carry. Not because the uncertainty disappears, but because they become more confident in their ability to live alongside it. For more tips on this, check out a question I answered a while back: Got Big Questions. 

I also really encourage you to stay connected to people who understand the emotional landscape of young adult cancer, specifically. YA spaces can be incredibly healing because you don’t have to explain the strange mix of hope, fear, grief, humor, and existential whiplash that can come with all of this. Therapy can help too, especially with someone who understands oncology or chronic illness experiences. 

Most importantly, I want you to know this: having moments of fear does not mean your hope is misplaced. You can trust your medical team, acknowledge uncertainty, and still build a future you’re excited about. Those things are allowed to co-exist.

Sending you a hug as you navigate this next chapter,
Perrie