Finding Joy With Cancer: I Did Not Wait for Treatment, Pain, and Fear to Disappear Before I Started Living Again
Finding Joy With Cancer: I Did Not Wait for Treatment, Pain, and Fear to Disappear Before I Started Living Again
Cancer brought many serious things into my life.
There were surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, scans, pain, medications, doctor visits, insurance problems, and fear of recurrence. Even after reaching no evidence of disease, I continued living with chronic illnesses and disabling side effects from treatment.
Joy did not arrive because all those problems disappeared.
It arrived in the middle of them.
I learned that I could be worried about my next scan and still laugh with my grandchildren. I could have a week filled with medical appointments and still cook something I enjoyed. I could live with pain and still sit near the water, travel, write, celebrate, or try something new.
Cancer was part of my life.
It did not have to become the only part.
Joy Was Not the Same as Pretending Everything Was Fine
Finding joy did not mean denying how serious my cancer was.
I had Stage IV uterine leiomyosarcoma.
I understood that it could return.
I understood that no evidence of disease was not the same as receiving a guarantee that I would never face cancer again.
I did not need to pretend I was cured, fearless, or physically well before allowing myself to enjoy something.
Joy and honesty could exist together.
I Did Not Want Cancer to Own Every Good Day
Cancer already took enough.
It took time.
It took energy.
It changed my body.
It changed the way I worked, traveled, ate, planned, and thought about the future.
It filled my calendar with appointments and my home with medicines, paperwork, and medical supplies.
I did not want it to take every good moment too.
When I had enough energy to do something meaningful, I tried to use part of that energy for living rather than giving all of it to chores, work, or medical administration.
Joy Became Something I Practiced
Before cancer, I may have thought joy simply happened.
After cancer, I sometimes had to make room for it intentionally.
Appointments automatically appeared on the calendar.
Bills demanded attention.
Work had deadlines.
Household problems announced themselves.
Enjoyable activities were easier to postpone.
I began treating joy as something important enough to schedule.
That did not mean forcing myself to have fun.
It meant creating opportunities for something good to happen.
I Learned to Notice Small Moments
Not every joyful experience needed to become a trip or celebration.
Some of the best moments were small.
A drink brought by my grandson.
Sitting outside while he practiced riding his bicycle.
Walking to the sign and back.
Cooking a meal.
Talking with someone who understood.
Seeing sunlight through the trees.
Taking a short walk at the park.
Finishing a poem.
Laughing at something unexpected.
The National Cancer Institute encourages people living with cancer to notice small daily pleasures and continue doing activities they enjoy when possible.
Small did not mean unimportant.
My Grandchildren Brought Joy Into Difficult Days
My oldest grandson spent a great deal of time at my home during part of my cancer journey.
He helped in simple ways.
He brought me drinks and food.
If I needed a short nap, he played quietly.
He walked with me to the sign and back.
When I became stronger, we walked around the block and later on the tracks at the park.
Those walks were not only exercise.
They were time together.
We Built Memories Around What I Could Do
Cancer changed my abilities, but it did not remove my role as a grandmother.
I may not have had the energy for a full day of activities.
We could still sit outside.
We could still walk slowly.
We could still talk.
We could still imagine stories.
Some of the activities I shared with my grandsons later helped inspire my book *Joey’s Hat*.
What looked like ordinary time became part of something I created.
My Grandsons Shaved Their Heads
When I shaved my head during treatment, my grandsons shaved theirs too.
They were proud to look like me.
They could not remove my cancer or take the chemotherapy away.
They found a way to stand beside me that made sense to them.
My daughter also considered shaving her beautiful hair.
I told her not to.
I did not need every person I loved to lose something to prove that she cared.
The boys’ excitement still gave me a joyful memory during a difficult part of treatment.
Nature Helped Me Feel Like More Than a Patient
The man I was dating during part of my treatment took me kayaking.
He also took me to outdoor places where I could sit or take small walks.
Those outings gave me a break from medical buildings.
Near the water, I was not only the woman with Stage IV cancer.
I could notice the air, trees, movement, and quiet.
I could remember that the world was still larger than my diagnosis.
The Activity Had to Fit the Day
I did not always have the same strength.
Some days, kayaking or walking might be possible.
Other days, sitting outside was enough.
Finding joy required flexibility.
I had to stop measuring every activity against what I could do before cancer.
The better question was:
“What can I enjoy safely today?”
That question kept me from rejecting a good experience simply because it had to be smaller.
Movement Could Be Enjoyment Instead of Punishment
Exercise is often presented as another medical responsibility.
Move because it is healthy.
Move because the doctor said so.
Move because sitting too much is harmful.
For me, movement was easier when it was connected to something enjoyable.
Walking with my grandson felt different from completing an exercise assignment alone.
Kayaking placed movement inside nature.
Yoga stretches with my daughter included conversation and connection.
The movement still helped my body.
Joy made it feel less like another treatment.
I Miss the Daily Yoga With My Daughter
When my daughter lived in another state, she called me every day.
We talked and did yoga stretches together.
Those calls supported me emotionally and physically.
I miss that routine.
After I moved closer to her in Virginia, the daily calls and stretching ended.
The loss reminds me that joy can come from a relationship and that the ending of a routine can create grief.
The fact that it ended does not erase how meaningful it was while I had it.
Cooking Remained One of My Love Languages
I love to cook.
Cancer changed food for a while.
Chemotherapy made many things taste terrible.
My diet later changed because of diabetes, deficiencies, medicines, and chronic illness.
Still, cooking remained part of who I was.
Preparing food allowed me to create something, care for people, and bring them together.
It was one part of my identity that cancer did not completely take.
Cooking Was Joy Even When Dishes Were Not
I enjoy preparing food.
I hate washing dishes.
Those two truths belong together.
I learned to reduce the part I hated so I could keep more of the part I enjoyed.
I prepared meals in batches.
I used simpler recipes.
I planned foods that reheated well.
I sometimes paid for help or used convenience items when needed.
Joy became easier when I stopped requiring myself to complete every unpleasant part in the hardest possible way.
My Purple Party Was Pure Joy
When I reached one year after diagnosis, I threw myself a purple survival party.
I did not wait for someone else to plan it.
I chose to celebrate.
We dressed in purple.
There were purple ribbons, decorations, cancer goody bags, some purple food, and plenty of real food.
I cooked because feeding people is how I show love.
The Party Was Not About Who Came
I did not spend the day counting who attended.
I did not let someone’s absence decide whether the party was successful.
I was celebrating the fact that I had survived one year.
I had survived major surgeries.
I had made it through doxorubicin.
I had survived pneumonia.
I had bought my own house.
I was surrounded by family, friends, food, and purple.
That was enough.
I Allowed Myself to Be Proud
Cancer patients sometimes feel they should remain humble about survival.
We know other people died.
We know the treatment may not have worked forever.
We know another scan could change everything.
I was still allowed to feel proud that I had made it through an extremely difficult year.
Pride did not mean I believed I had defeated cancer through strength alone.
It meant I recognized what my body, mind, faith, family, and medical team had carried.
Joy Did Not Need Permission
Most parties in my life were parties I organized myself.
The only celebration someone else had fully arranged for me was a potluck baby shower through my church.
I learned not to wait for people to decide that my milestone deserved recognition.
I could create the celebration.
I could buy the decorations.
I could cook the food.
I could invite people into my happiness.
Planning my own joy did not make it less real.
## Writing Gave Me Another Form of Joy
Cancer took control away in many areas.
Writing gave some of it back.
I could choose the words.
I could organize an experience that had once felt chaotic.
I could turn fear, grief, family memories, and ordinary moments into books, poems, and articles.
Writing did not erase the pain.
It allowed me to make something from it.
Publishing Books Reminded Me I Still Had a Future
A book requires planning.
It requires imagining that there will be a finished product.
Cancer can make long-term thinking difficult.
Working on a book gave me a future goal that was not a medical milestone.
It was not the next scan or treatment.
It was something creative waiting to be completed.
That gave me another reason to keep moving forward.
Surviving Life Lessons Created Purpose and Connection
I created Surviving Life Lessons to help people who are struggling through difficult parts of life.
The website gave me a place to turn my experiences into practical help.
It allowed me to share lessons from cancer, divorce, family changes, chronic illness, work, and survival.
Purpose and joy were connected but not identical.
Purpose made the work meaningful.
Joy came from knowing that something painful might help another person feel less alone.
People living with advanced cancer may seek meaning through relationships, spirituality, legacy, service, and reflection on what matters most.
Joy Could Come From Helping Someone Else
There were times when I felt most alive while helping someone understand what I had learned.
That might mean encouraging a patient to ask a question.
It might mean helping someone organize medical information.
It might mean explaining why a second opinion was reasonable.
It might mean telling another woman about uterine leiomyosarcoma.
Helping gave parts of the journey a purpose beyond my own survival.
I still had to be careful not to turn helping into another source of exhaustion.
Ireland Was a Larger Joy
Going to Ireland was something I had wanted to do.
Cancer helped me stop assuming that meaningful travel should wait until retirement or perfect health.
I went while managing chronic illness and limited mobility.
The trip required more planning than it might have before cancer.
I needed to think about medicines, walking, transportation, rest, and accessibility.
I still experienced a place I had dreamed about.
Travel Did Not Have to Look Perfect
I could not move the way I once did.
I might need to sit while others walked.
I might need a mobility device.
I might need more rest.
I had to accept that travel after cancer would be different.
Different did not mean disappointing.
The goal was not to prove that cancer had changed nothing.
The goal was to go and experience what I safely could.
New Experiences Helped Me Feel Brave
Trying something new after cancer can feel powerful.
The activity does not need to be dangerous or dramatic.
It may be visiting a new place.
Trying a new food.
Joining a group.
Writing a book.
Taking a class.
Planning a themed party.
Using a scooter to travel rather than staying home.
Each experience tells me:
“My life is still capable of expanding.”
Joy Helped Break Up the Medical Calendar
My calendar contained appointments with oncology, cardiology, primary care, endocrinology, radiology, and many other doctors.
Without intentional activities, one week could blend into another series of medical tasks.
A planned dinner, outing, family visit, writing day, or trip gave the calendar another kind of event.
Medical care was necessary.
It did not deserve every square.
I Needed Things to Look Forward To
A future date did not have to be a scan.
It could be:
* A visit with grandchildren
* A meal
* A short trip
* A book launch
* A holiday
* A park visit
* A family activity
* A party
* A new project
* A quiet day with no appointments
Setting dates for enjoyable or meaningful events can help people with advanced cancer continue engaging with life and the people who matter to them.
Looking forward gave time another direction.
Joy Could Be Quiet
Not all joy was loud.
Sometimes joy looked like peace.
A quiet morning.
A comfortable chair.
A clean part of the house.
A meal already prepared.
A free evening because I grouped appointments on another day.
A day when I gave myself permission to do nothing.
Quiet joy mattered because my life already contained enough noise.
Rest and Joy Could Be the Same Thing
I once viewed rest mainly as the absence of productivity.
Now, rest can be enjoyable.
It can mean not rushing.
It can mean allowing my body to settle.
It can mean watching something entertaining without feeling guilty.
It can mean sleeping because I am tired instead of forcing one more task.
Rest becomes joyful when I stop using it as evidence that I failed to accomplish enough.
Humor Still Belonged in My Life
Cancer is serious.
That does not mean every conversation must remain serious.
Humor can create a small break in fear.
It can help family members connect.
It can remind the patient that laughter is still physically possible.
The National Cancer Institute includes humor and fun among the ways people may cope with daily life during cancer.
The joke does not have to be about cancer.
Sometimes it is better when it is not.
I Did Not Want Forced Positivity
Joy should not become another demand placed on a cancer patient.
No one should say:
* “Look on the bright side.”
* “Everything happens for a reason.”
* “You need to enjoy every day.”
* “At least you are alive.”
* “Do not waste your time being sad.”
I was allowed to grieve.
I was allowed to be angry.
I was allowed to have bad days.
Real joy made room for those emotions.
Forced positivity tried to silence them.
A Bad Day Did Not Cancel a Good Life
There were days when pain, fatigue, fear, or side effects took over.
I did not always feel hopeful.
I did not always want to do an activity.
Some days, surviving the day was enough.
One bad day did not mean I had lost the ability to experience joy.
It meant that day was hard.
Joy Did Not Need to Be Constant
No person feels joyful every hour.
Trying to maintain constant happiness would have been exhausting and unrealistic.
I looked for moments.
A moment could be enough to change the feeling of a day.
Joy was not a permanent emotional state.
It was something that visited, something I created space for, and something I learned to recognize.
I Became Less Concerned About What Joy Looked Like to Others
Other people may not understand why a small activity matters.
They may think traveling with limitations is too much trouble.
They may not see the value of a themed party.
They may consider a quiet day unproductive.
The activity did not need to impress anyone.
It needed to mean something to me.
I Stopped Comparing My Joy to My Old Life
Comparison can ruin a moment.
I could think:
* I used to walk farther.
* I used to travel without a scooter.
* I used to cook without becoming tired.
* I used to do more with the grandchildren.
* I used to need less help.
Those comparisons may be true.
They do not have to decide whether today’s experience has value.
I can miss my old body and still enjoy what my present body allows.
I Learned to Adapt Instead of Automatically Canceling
When an activity felt too difficult, I asked whether it could be changed.
Could I sit?
Could we shorten it?
Could someone drive?
Could I use a walker or scooter?
Could the activity happen at home?
Could we take breaks?
Could we split it across two days?
Adaptation allowed joy to remain possible.
Mobility Aids Gave Me Access
Using a walker, rollator, or scooter could feel emotionally difficult.
It also allowed me to go places I might otherwise have missed.
A mobility device was not evidence that I had stopped living.
It was equipment that helped me participate.
Once I focused on access rather than appearance, more experiences became available.
I Did Not Save Every Good Thing for Better Health
There was always a chance that my health might improve later.
There was also a chance that another treatment or condition would make something more difficult.
I stopped assuming that better health would automatically arrive at the perfect time.
When the activity was safe and manageable, I considered doing it with the health I had.
Joy and Fear Traveled Together
I could enjoy Ireland and still fear recurrence.
I could celebrate one year and still worry about reaching two.
I could laugh with my grandchildren and still wonder whether I would see them grow up.
I could publish a book while managing chronic illness.
Fear did not need to leave the room before joy entered.
They learned to share space.
Joy Did Not Cure Me
I want to be clear.
Laughter did not remove tumors.
Travel did not replace medicine.
Cooking did not prevent recurrence.
A positive attitude did not create my NED scans.
Joy supported my quality of life.
It gave me reasons to continue participating in the treatment and responsibilities that remained.
It helped me experience the life the treatment was trying to preserve.
Cancer Treatment Was Supposed to Protect a Life Worth Living
Sometimes treatment becomes so central that everyone forgets the purpose.
The goal is not merely to complete appointments.
It is not only to produce good laboratory numbers.
It is to help a person live.
Living includes:
* Relationships
* Comfort
* Purpose
* Pleasure
* Creativity
* Faith
* Laughter
* Rest
* Experiences
* Choices
A treatment plan should leave room to ask what matters to the patient outside the disease.
My Joy List Changed Over Time
What gave me joy during chemotherapy was not always the same as what gave me joy later.
During chemotherapy, it might have been:
* Sitting near water
* A tolerable meal
* A call from my daughter
* Time with my grandson
* A comfortable hat
* Completing another treatment
Later, it might have been:
* Traveling
* Publishing
* Hosting a party
* Creating the website
* Trying a new activity
* Having an appointment-free evening
The list changed with my abilities and life.
Questions I Began Asking Myself
* What makes me smile?
* What makes me feel like myself?
* Who helps me feel safe?
* What can I do within my current energy?
* What have I always wanted to try?
* Can the activity be adapted?
* Am I postponing this for a real reason?
* What would make this week contain something good?
* Do I need activity, connection, creativity, or rest?
* What memory would I like to create?
These questions were not medical treatment.
They helped me remember why I wanted more time.
Ways to Create Small Joy
Joy can be created without a large budget or perfect health.
It may include:
* Listening to favorite music
* Sitting outdoors
* Calling a friend
* Cooking something simple
* Looking through photographs
* Writing
* Watching something funny
* Spending time with a pet
* Walking a short distance
* Planning a themed meal
* Reading
* Working on a craft
* Taking a drive
* Watching grandchildren play
* Creating a comfortable space at home
NCI guidance notes that simple daily experiences, such as talking with a friend or enjoying a familiar routine, can provide comfort and pleasure during cancer.
Ways Loved Ones Can Support Joy
Support should not be limited to medical needs.
Loved ones can ask:
* “What would you enjoy doing?”
* “Can I help make that accessible?”
* “Would you like company or quiet?”
* “Can I handle the transportation?”
* “Would you like to go somewhere besides a doctor’s office?”
* “What food sounds good?”
* “Do you want to talk about cancer or something completely different?”
Sometimes the patient needs help attending an appointment.
Sometimes she needs help having a life.
What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
I wish someone had told me that joy would not wait until cancer disappeared.
I wish I had known that I could enjoy an activity while still feeling afraid.
I wish someone had told me that small moments could become some of my strongest memories.
I wish I had understood that adapting an experience did not make it less meaningful.
I wish someone had told me that mobility aids could create freedom rather than only represent loss.
I wish I had known that rest, humor, cooking, writing, travel, and family time all counted as living.
I wish someone had warned me not to confuse joy with forced positivity.
Most of all, I wish someone had said:
“You do not have to wait until you feel like your old self before allowing your current self to experience something good.”
Hope for Today
Cancer did not make my life joyful.
I created joy inside a life cancer had changed.
I walked with my grandson.
I sat outside while he rode his bicycle.
My grandsons shaved their heads when I shaved mine.
My daughter called and stretched with me.
I went kayaking during chemotherapy.
I cooked.
I wrote books.
I built Surviving Life Lessons.
I threw a purple party because I had survived one year.
I went to Ireland.
I tried activities I had once postponed.
I rested.
I laughed.
I adapted.
There were also painful days.
There were days filled with fear.
There were losses I still grieve.
Joy did not erase those parts of my story.
It gave them company.
I do not know how many years I will receive.
I know that some of the years I have already lived contained more joy than I expected to find after a Stage IV diagnosis.
Cancer remains part of my life.
Joy does too.
Frequently Asked Questions
Can someone experience joy while living with advanced cancer?
Yes. People living with advanced cancer may continue to enjoy relationships, activities, creativity, spirituality, humor, travel, and meaningful daily moments.
Does finding joy mean denying the seriousness of cancer?
No. A person can understand the diagnosis and still participate in enjoyable experiences.
Did joy replace my medical treatment?
No. Joy supported my quality of life. Surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, maintenance medicine, and medical monitoring treated the cancer.
Why were small activities important?
They gave me connection, normalcy, purpose, and memories without requiring more energy than I had.
Did I continue activities during chemotherapy?
Yes, when I could do so safely. These included kayaking, sitting in nature, walking short distances, cooking, and spending time with family.
Why was the purple party important?
It marked one year of survival and allowed me to celebrate being alive, owning my house, and having family and friends around me.
Why did I go to Ireland?
It was a place I had long wanted to visit, and cancer made me stop assuming that meaningful travel should always wait until later.
Can mobility aids support joy?
Yes. Walkers, rollators, scooters, and other aids may help someone participate more safely in activities and travel.
Does every day need a joyful activity?
No. Difficult, painful, or quiet days are normal. Joy does not need to be constant.
Is resting a meaningful use of time?
Yes. Rest may support physical and emotional recovery and can itself become a peaceful experience.
Support on Your Journey
Cancer can make a person feel that every day belongs to treatment, side effects, or fear.
Surviving Life Lessons Community Groups are being formed so patients, survivors, and caregivers can discuss joy, grief, travel, family memories, creativity, mobility, celebrations, and living beyond the medical calendar.
Neighbor Chat offers a quieter place to talk when you need someone to understand that a small enjoyable moment can matter greatly during a difficult journey.
Next Step Coaching can help identify one meaningful activity and adapt it to current energy, health, mobility, time, and support. It does not replace oncology, mental-health care, physical therapy, medical clearance, or professional travel planning.
You do not have to wait for a perfect life to experience something good.
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References
**National Cancer Institute. “Coping With Your Feelings During Advanced Cancer.”**
**National Cancer Institute. “Daily Routine.”**
**National Cancer Institute. “Finding Purpose and Meaning With Advanced Cancer.”**
**National Cancer Institute. “Living With Advanced Cancer for a Long Time.”**
**National Cancer Institute. “Taking Time: Support for People With Cancer.”**
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**Disclaimer:** This article shares my personal experience and general educational information. It is not medical, mental-health, exercise, mobility, travel, or treatment advice. Activities should be adapted to the person’s health, ability, treatment plan, and medical guidance. Seek professional support when pain, fatigue, depression, anxiety, mobility, or other symptoms limit daily life.
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