Find Your EPIC After Minisode: "DEAR CANCER"

Krystal Haefner: Dear Cancer, I have never known a life without you. In fact, my very first memories are of the treatments I endured because of you. The spinal taps. The fear and anxiety I felt right before my first port was placed. The taste of the gas they used to put me under. The confusion I felt when a friend who was beating treated next to me just stopped showing up. You took over two years of my entire family's life. Everything revolved around you. Fighting you, beating you. Chemo, radiation, bone marrow scrapes, countless nurses, and even more doctors, all to save a child who wasn't even old enough to read, add, or comprehend what losing this battle could mean. But we did it. My family, my medical team and I, we beat you. At five years old, we celebrated my exit from treatment and my entrance into remission. You are so strong. You are fearless. You're inspiring. You've got this. These are probably some of most repeated statements I've heard throughout my life. You see, cancer, you weren't the focus. My ability to fight you and remain standing was. And so these words served as a reminder as I took on different hardships in life. These words of hope and support and encouragement. They serve me well. I would tell myself I am strong. I am fearless. I am inspiring and I do have this. So as I grew up, I lived a relatively normal life as a kid. I played soccer competitively. I dated the wrong guys. Cliff Note, that was not cancer's fault, that was my own. I became an adult. And at 24 years old, I was cleared by an oncologist who told me, you have just as much risk as anyone else to have cancer. And so life continued on. I got married. Remember the Cliff Note? Had two beautiful children and put myself through nursing school. Truth be told, Cancer, you were not the only hard thing I survived. My unhealthy marriage was another. But I knew that those kids deserved a good life and I deserved a thriving life. So I decided to get a divorce. At 32 years old, one month into a divorce with a one year old and a five year old, I felt like things were finally going to change. I felt scared but hopeful. I felt excited for the future. I felt Fell wait, what is that? two mammograms and a biopsy later I get the call. Hello. Hi, this is your doctor. Do you have a minute? I was in the car with my two kids, so I pulled over and took her off of Bluetooth. I have cancer, don't I? How did you know? The truth is, deep down I knew I would see this again, and I cannot explain why. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I was terrified. Who's gonna take care of these kids if this goes bad? What if I what if I can't work? How am I gonna pay my bills? What if What if I die? Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. Remember those sentences. You are so strong. I can't stop. I just I just have to keep moving. You are fearless. I'm scared shitless. You're inspiring. I did this before. I can do it again. You've got this. I can't give up, so I'm just gonna fake it till I make it. I met with my surgeon the day I got the news. He informed me that I had a 36% chance of being diagnosed due to the radiation I received as a kid. How could this be happening again? Yes, I beat cancer once, but but this time I had little people depending on me. I was the sole provider in my home. I was their main support system. I was their mom. The truth is, all of the decisions I made from that point forward were hard, but I made all of them with them at the forefront of my mind. Within two weeks, I had a double mastectomy. A lumpectomy was the initial suggested surgery, but I had my entire chest radiated and I did not want to keep having surgeries. You see, cancer? I was willing to do anything to beat you. Once again, for the next year, you took over my life. Breast removal, nipple sparing, expanders to stretch the skin, implants six months later. But then The one treatment that everybody who is diagnosed with cancer dreads. I had to do chemo again. and not just any chemo, but one with a fun and exciting name. The Red Devil. And it truly was like walking through hell. Cancer, I literally chose to pump poison into my body to kill you. You had already taken so much from me. My first memories, part of my childhood, my breasts, my children's healthy mother, and my financial stability. There was no way in hell you were taking my hair to. So within eight days, my family and friends threw together this incredible fundraiser, and I shaved it all off in front of them. For the next six months, my life consisted of chemo rooms where I was the youngest person in the room getting sympathetic stares from everyone else with cancer. Headaches that felt like fire, fatigue and body aches that can only be compared to running a marathon, and then being hit by a truck at the finish line. Metallic tastes, constant nausea, no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, more chemo, more fluids, and rinse and repeat. Every day I woke up and I did not recognize myself in the mirror. Every day I woke up and I saw you. My cancer. I was wearing you. And the shittiest part was I'd already cut you out of me. This was just to make sure you didn't come back. But finally, finally I got to ring that glorious bell and I completed chemo again. I got a third chance at life. I'm like a freaking cockroach. Once again I beat you, Cancer. Time passes, life goes on, my hair grows back. I meet the most incredible man. Hey boom. We have a beautiful miracle son, and though I was not able to breastfeed, God, I was just so grateful to be able to conceive. Last year we have this ridiculous Halloween themed wedding in February. Who does that? And had a bucketless trip to Ireland for our honeymoon. I fought so hard for this life. A good life. A life without you, cancer. And as I entered my fifth year of diagnosis, also known as the golden year, I decided it would be a good time for a revision surgery. I find a renowned plastic surgeon, and as I am being examined, I'm asked if I noticed any of the remaining breast tissue that I had. Wait wait what do you mean? He calms me down, but he asks an oncological surgeon to be on standby the day of my surgery. The day of my revision surgery arrives, and as soon as I wake up from the procedure, I am informed that there was residual breast tissue in both breasts and that it was being sent off for biopsy. Can this be happening again? I only wait about a week. And as I am sitting in my plastic surgeon's office, my phone rings. Hello. So we were a bit surprised by the findings in your biopsy. Nothing you tell me is gonna surprise me. For the third time in my life. I have to be told that you are once again waging war on my body. Am I being punished? Who why does this keep happening? The only plan of action was to remove my nipples or watch and wait. Waiting is not an option. But I had to heal first. My radiated skin didn't want to heal this time around, so I spent the entire summer visiting a wound care doctor, making trips into a hyperbaric chamber every day for an entire month, and then ultimately deciding to have a deep flap surgery because my breasts, implants, and my body just didn't want to get along. The nipple removal and the deep flap occurred at the same time. It was an over twelve hour long surgery with a three day hospital stay and over six weeks of physical recovery, followed by a phase two surgery three months later with almost six more weeks of physical recovery. This battle with you has left me with the most scars, both physically and mentally. Cancer, all you do is take. You're a thief who steals joy, health, and love. You've taken people's breasts, their body parts, their self-worth, their confidence. You've stolen loved ones, family, friends, daughters, aunts, sisters. But you know what, cancer? Now it's my turn to take from you. I take the amazing support that I have had through this journey. I take the beautiful friendships that were forged and found during this. I take the resiliency that I had during this war, but most importantly, I take the knowledge that I only get one life here and I'm gonna live it to the fullest. You remember those four sentences, Cancer? You are so strong. You wanna see strength? Every warrior in this room stand up. Every single one of you, get up. I want you to join me on stage right now. All of you join me on stage. The one and eight get up here. The one and three. The thrivers, the fighters, the survivors, the mothers, the daughters, the teachers, the aunts, get up here. This is strength. You see how many? This is strength. We're not done yet. We're not done yet. Get up here. There's enough room for all of you. These are the women. These are them. You are not alone. Get up here, all of you, make room. I don't care. Let's go. Have your yes. I want you to stay up here with me for the rest of this, okay? We're doing it together. Because none of us are alone. We gotta finish it strong, right? For these women. There are three more statements though. You are fearless. You remember that one? You know who's fearless? It is our eternal warriors. They are the fearless ones. They look cancer in the face every day of their lives, and they lived in spite of you. As Stuart Scott said, when you die, it does not mean that you lose your battle to cancer. You beat cancer every day by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live. We honor each and every one of these beautiful women, and we miss you and we think of you every day. You are not forgotten. You're inspiring. You want to see inspiration? The medical staff are the inspiring ones. The doctors, the oncologists, the nurses, the social workers, the administrators, the chemo nurses. You see all of us, you see so many of us diagnosed. You hold our hands and you give us a plan and you give us the tools that we need to fight this disease. You are inspiring, thank you. You've got this. I don't have this. Obviously, I don't have it. We've got this. All of you here, you're already standing, so you skip the best part. You're standing. All of you here stand up. You are the reason why we have this. All of you supporting these beautiful women, supporting our mission as an organization. Thank you. And helping give us hope and support, even when we don't have it. Do we have it sometimes, ladies? No, right? No. But because of you, we've got this. Dear Cancer, I only want to let you know a couple more things. You are one word, you are one disease, and without us you don't even exist. And you sure as hell don't define us. Dear Cancer, I only have two more words for you. Already know. And in here at Pink Warrior Advocates, we say flock cancer. But in True Crystal and my girl Jin's fashion, I always got one F-word. I always got one. If there's kids here, cover their ears. Say whichever F-word you like on three. One, two, three, Flock Cancer!