Gruelling, brutal cancer treatments
The cancer treatments were gruelling and brutal on my body. Three years of chemotherapy took more than just my energy. It stole my hair, my strength, and the carefree moments that should have filled my childhood. While other children posed for their first school pictures with full heads of hair, I stood there bald, feeling exposed and different. For years, I refused to cut my hair – a quiet rebellion, a way to reclaim what cancer had taken. It became a symbol of the journey I never chose, but one I was forced to endure.
Some of the drugs I received as a child are no longer used today due to their harsh and damaging side effects. These treatments saved my life, but they left behind chronic reminders. I carry a port scar on my side—a permanent mark of the countless infusions that coursed through my tiny veins. Even now, the side effects lingered far beyond the treatments. The hospital visits didn’t end when the treatment did, they continue to this day, a reminder that while cancer may be gone, its impact remains.