The Power of Two Little Words
How "Breast Cancer" Redefined My Life
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When my mother was diagnosed in 1997, she was just 37 years old — vibrant, beautiful, and, to me, invincible. I was 17, caught between adolescence and adulthood, still trying to make sense of a world that already felt uncertain. My parents’ divorce had left deep cracks in our family and in my relationship with my mother. The years that followed were marked by tension, misunderstanding, and emotional distance. We loved each other, but too often from opposite sides of a wall neither of us knew how to tear down.
Her breast cancer diagnosis added a new layer of fear and confusion to an already fragile bond. At an age when I should have been focused on prom dresses and college applications, I was learning what chemotherapy meant and what it looked like when your mother lost her hair. I remember feeling helpless, angry, and scared — emotions I didn’t know how to express. So, I did what many teenagers do when faced with pain: I pulled away, burying my own pain.
But even in that season of disconnect, my mother’s confident courage left a lasting imprint on me. Watching her face illness with grit and determination planted something deep within me — a seed that would eventually grow into my calling to become a nurse. Her strength, even in silence, taught me that resilience doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it simply refuses to break.
Six years into my career as a registered nurse in the emergency department is when cancer came back into our lives — this time, with crueler intent. My mother was 48. The cancer had metastasized to her lungs, liver, and lymphatic system. I thought I knew and understood strength. I had seen patients fight for their lives. I have seen families hold onto hope in impossible situations. Nothing could have prepared me for what I understood, medically, and what that re-diagnosis meant. But as her daughter, I wasn’t ready to accept it.
Oddly enough, her second battle with cancer became the bridge we’d both been searching for. The distance created by years of misunderstanding and unhealed wounds began to close as she allowed herself to lean on me — not just as her nurse, but as her daughter. She needed me, and for the first time, I realized how much I needed her too.
The long nights in hospital rooms, the quiet moments of care, the gentle conversations between treatments — those became our second chance. Cancer stripped away the pretense and pride that had once stood between us. It forced us to confront what truly mattered: love, forgiveness, and presence. Presence. In the face of something so uncontrollable, we finally found peace in the one thing we could control — showing up for each other.
Professionally, that experience changed me in profound ways. It reminded me that nursing isn’t just about stabilizing vitals or managing medications. It’s about human connection — about seeing the person behind the diagnosis, the story behind the struggle. My mother’s journey deepened my empathy, transforming the way I cared for every patient who came through my doors. Each one became, in some way, a reflection of her.
Breast cancer has been both my greatest heartbreak and my greatest teacher. It forced me to face pain, but it also taught me how to heal. It mended a fractured bond, shaped my purpose, and revealed the kind of strength I might never have discovered otherwise.
Those two little words — breast cancer — once filled me with fear. Today, they remind me of love restored, forgiveness found, and the woman I became because of both.
By: Kandise Finley, MSN-Ed, RN
