Knowing What Counts

Cancer Math Doesn’t Add Up

I was chatting with friends recently and mentioned that this December 3 marks 11 years since I was diagnosed, but December 17 is actually 10 years since I became a survivor.

And I guess that's true, but it makes me wonder why that year of treatment doesn't count. My doctors have always said that survivorship starts after treatment ends. But WHY? I survived that year! I thrived during that year. To me, that year counts the most! I am not letting that go.

That year was filled with chemo, immunotherapy, a bilateral mastectomy, radiation, physical therapy, psychotherapy, yoga therapy, acupuncture, and more. It worked, and I’m indescribably thankful for that.

But leaving that year out feels wrong -- like denying what I lived through.

The Quiet Harm of Shrinking the Story

When doctors say survivorship begins only after treatment ends, it makes sense in a clinical way -- they want to mark a clear milestone. But that framing quietly sidelines an entire year (or more) of intense living, fighting, and enduring. It’s like saying, “The real story starts here,” while editing out the chapters filled with the hardest battles.

That year was not just “treatment time.” It was survival in its purest form. Every infusion mattered, but so did every subtle movement toward healing: the slow regaining of arm strength, the delicate work of scapular mobility, the painstaking effort to reclaim what my mastectomy took away. These small victories don’t show up on MRIs or charts, but they are monumental milestones in my journey.

Every physical therapy session, every stretch, every breath taken through pain was a testament to resilience. To call that “not survivorship” feels like erasing the grit and grace it took to get through it all.

The Nuances of Healing

This shrinking of the story isn’t just a semantic issue. It shapes how survivors see themselves and how others see them. If survivorship only counts after treatment, does that mean the pain, the breakthroughs, the fears, the small victories during treatment don’t count? Does it mean the survivor’s identity only begins after the most grueling chapter ends?

No. That year counts. More than counts—it defines survivorship for many of us.

By refusing to acknowledge that year, we risk silencing the complexity of cancer’s impact. We deny the full scope of what it means to survive, thrive, and reclaim life amid treatment’s storm.

Gratitude, Then and Now

Today, I’m healthy. Strong. Energized. Not just surviving — living fully. But I was grateful then, too. Amid the mess, the nausea, the uncertainty, I found gratitude for my body and how it was working hard to recover. Grateful for the people who showed up and held space.

That year gave me a new way to be alive. It stripped me down and rebuilt me, piece by piece. And honestly? I don’t want a version of my story that skips over that. That year counts — deeply and profoundly — because it shaped everything I am today.

So here’s to reclaiming that year. To honoring every moment of survival—whether it happens during treatment, after, or somewhere in between. Because survivorship isn’t a neat tally of years; it’s a mosaic of struggle, strength, and courage every single day.