Mariem Farag is an Egyptian-Canadian mother and a special education teacher with the Toronto District School Board.
There she was, Catherine, Princess of Wales – a mother of three young children – telling the world that at only 42, she was beginning her fight with cancer. My heart broke for her. I know going through cancer is excruciating; I can’t imagine going through it with the whole world watching.
As she spoke about telling her kids the news, I was taken back in time to exactly one year ago, when my family’s life changed. It began with a fever, an ache under my armpit, and a small but growing bump on my breast.
I didn’t fit the typical breast cancer profile. I was only 39 – much too young, it seemed, for that kind of diagnosis, and I had no family history of cancer. Even the mammogram results were inconclusive. In my case, only a biopsy could give a proper diagnosis.
So there I was, a mother of two young children, trying not to think about the “C word” in my kitchen when my phone rang at 6 p.m. on a Wednesday. I knew before my doctor said hello.
“I’m sorry Mariem, it’s not good news.”
My whole world shattered. The next few weeks seemed only to consist of more tests and scans. I went on autopilot, keeping track of all the new terminology, the appointments, options and procedures. Everything else stopped, except for one thing: motherhood.
Explaining what cancer means to a five- and seven-year-old without scaring them is a delicate science. We reached out to the hospital’s social worker for guidance on how much to share. We took care in using the proper terms and prefaced the presentation to our children with the doctor’s good news – we can cure it, and if anything changes, we will fill you in.
The news of my hair loss was the toughest one for them to swallow, especially for my little girl, who loves that her curls have always matched her mom’s. It was one of countless bittersweet moments we would experience in those early days.
My cancer, called triple-negative breast cancer, often affects young women and spreads quickly, but early diagnosis is life-saving. Thanks to my guardian angel of a family doctor, that was my story. When I was diagnosed, however, there were no routine screening programs in place for younger women. Fortunately, in the last year, Ontario has lowered the routine mammogram age from 50 to 40.
It seems that something is changing with cancer: it’s no longer our grandparents’ disease. When I first began my treatment, I noticed that I was by far the youngest patient in the waiting room. Everyone who was asked to share their birthday to confirm their identity was born before the 1980s.
Now, as I wrap up treatment in the same chemo chairs in the same hospital for immunotherapy (a necessary next step, as my type of cancer is resistant to hormone therapy), I’m no longer the youngest patient there. Each time I go in, there’s a new young face starting treatment. During my last session, I watched young twin girls sit by their mother’s side as she waited for her appointment.
To other members of my generation who are beginning the cancer treatment process, some of whom may have young children as well: First, I’m sorry that this is happening to you. You did nothing wrong. Second: you control what cancer touches in your life (and it will try to touch everything). Take a breath and make your best memories stick, so you can pull them off the mental shelf whenever you need them.
My support system is strong – my faith, family, friends and community brought needed sparks of normalcy into my unrecognizable life – and I have an amazing medical team. Still, cancer treatment is a lonely place for a young mom. I needed others who could say, “I get it,” and who I knew understood. So I reached out and found the best support group at Gilda’s Club, where I met seven strong and courageous women. We fell in love and created a WhatsApp group, where we still check up on each others’ appointments, meet at radiation sessions, go for lunch, or have a call when one of us has had enough. I refuse to give cancer any credit for anything – except the creation of these ties.
The journey has been long and hard. To those going through the same thing or similar, I know you’re facing an overwhelming mountain, but you can climb it. You are allowed to fall, too – just make sure to reach out so others can catch you.