Amandafesting
I had cancer in these photos. Can you tell?
My nieces and sister had planned a trip to an alpaca farm for me. Alpacas ignite fierce inner-child energy for me - and I’m not even sure when that started. I’ve always been more of a robot-vacuum-pet kind of gal than an actual animal-lover human. And yet…somehow, alpacas became my favourite animals - while my nieces firmly hold the title of favourite humans.
I remember really being present during this day and just giddy with enthusiasm over the memory gift they gave to me, to all of us. I was not sure where my cancer journey was going to take me back then and that day I felt really present in my thoughts and joy.
There was happiness that day but there was still pain. There was always physical pain. I remember wanting…no…needing to sit down so badly because of my lower back pain. Hunching, squatting, sitting… These are things I learned to do over the span of 10 years so I could alleviate the pain. Standing for longer than 3-5 minutes was excruciating. I sometimes felt that if I stood too long that my insides would somehow burst through my lower back and that would be the end of my life. That day was no exception - smiling in between the pain was something I had gotten good at. It was just nice to be smiling with the alpacas.
I remember spending hours of my time daydreaming. I would fantasize about how my life should be. I would dream of what it would be like to walk and hike... to do some of the adventures and explore some of the places I would see in TV. I would watch movies cuddled up on my couch eating excessive amounts of food because food was one of the only things I had in my life that would give me pleasure. I would think about what it would be like to fly away… in a hot air balloon… but then reality would kick in … How the fuck would I ever get into one? Let alone stand in one? … Back to dreaming… in my dreams I was in the balloon… I was flying. In my dreams I was healthy. In my dreams I was happy on the inside… not just wearing a outer mask of “happy”.
Amandafesting
Amandafesting
Did I just manifest cancer?
I remember being adamant that my uterus was coming out. I was going to get my way and it was coming out. I remember lining all my thoughts and energy into that thought process.
Getting the IUD in was supposed to help my periods. I had bled every day from September 2021 until December 29 2021. We are talking clots the size of quarters happening by the hour kind of bleeding too, not just the spotting kind. I was wearing two overnight pads embracing my adult diaper. The bleeding continued even after my IUD insertion but that was the longest stretch.
I could feel the IUD. I didn’t want it in… it didn’t do anything anyways. I was in tears in pain both emotionally and physically when it was inserted on January 6 2022. I was convinced it wouldn’t help and pleaded for a hysterectomy but my doctors refused to give me one. During insertion, the male gynecologist who I refer to as “Dr. Poo”, told me to “be quiet” and “I was overreacting” and “it was not that painful”. I remember this same doctor telling me that I will “change my mind and want kids one day”. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t get that I did not want kids. I was 37 years old. Being abstinent for 10 years during my “prime childbearing years” should have been enough to prove that. I didn’t like sex. Sex had always been painful. I never talked about that part of it because I was embarrassed. But… Why should I have to justify my decision at all? A man, the same age as me, with no children, can easily choose to have a vasectomy. Yet, as a woman, the same age, not wanting children, experiencing extreme physical pain, anxiety, engaging in suicide ideation because of a body part disrupting my life… can’t get a hysterectomy. Inserting sarcasm font, “Nope, I’m a woman… don’t ya know I’ll change my mind”. Ugh. Gross. I kept repeating, “I don’t want kids. I don’t want my uterus.” I was a broken record. I would visualize my IUD coming out… with my uterus.
Shortly after my IUD was inserted, I received a call from my family doctor. My pap smear results had come back (delayed due to covid) and I needed to return to Dr. Poo for follow up. I did not like him and told her this but she said the wait to get into another gyno would take too long and I really needed this follow up. On the examination table on February 16 2022, my legs opened, Dr. Poo stated, “it looks like cancer”…Cancer?? Huh?? My face went red….I had 1000 thoughts simultaneously… Two of those thoughts: “Why are you telling me this while I am laying down on this table?” and… “What the Fuck. Did I just manifest cancer?” To this day, I am unable to lie down on an examination table without bursting into tears due to the trauma caused by Dr. Poo’s actions. His care was not trauma-informed.
Amandafesting
Amandafesting
The thought, “Am I going to die?” also came into my brain…And then as I learned about my cancer and the treatment for it my thoughts changed to “wait…fuck yes, uterus is coming out??” I was happy about this. They wouldn’t give me a hysterectomy though, not yet. First they needed to do a cone procedure to see how far the cancer had spread and that would determine if I would get a hysterectomy. Dr. Poo “assured” me “again” that they would put a band in my cervix so I could “still have children”. UMMM DR. POO, WHAT PART ABOUT “I DON’T WANT KIDS DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?” Why did I have to shout this? I was not nice to Dr. Poo. I was done with being nice. Nice was not getting me anywhere. So. I stopped. I wasn’t the nice girl I was taught to be my entire life during my cancer journey. I cannot count how many times I became angry with this doctor. Thinking back… The medical gaslighting was actually horrendous. And the version of me that emerged in those rooms surprised even myself. I had been taught to smile. To stay pleasant. To keep things palatable - especially in rooms where authority lived. But niceness had never protected my body. I had always been too nice to really go for what I knew I needed. And in those experiences with this doctor, niceness finally stopped being my default, and advocating became a fire of tears and rage in these offices. I was not going to be “nice”. Not when I was dedicated to getting my uterus out. Not when it was my body.
Outside of those rooms with that doctor? I did what I knew how to do. I poured myself into work because work was easier to manage than the feelings I wasn’t ready to face. I kept showing up in spaces with friends and family. I wore the mask. I showed up as “me”. I laughed. I made plans. I created memories. I made sure no one knew about what I was going through so they wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or worried because of what I was carrying. That was the version of care I knew how to give - presence without need, connection without disclosure. I could hold space for others far more easily than I could ask them to hold space for me. Looking back has its way of giving clarity… and it all tracks. Parentification teaches you how to keep things moving, how to protect the room, how to make sure everyone else is okay - even when you aren’t. As I would later discover and name for myself in therapy, asking for help from people in my life was harder for me than the cancer itself.
Later my family doctor called to follow up. She told me gently but clearly that it was time - that I would need help. That moving forward with the cone procedure to see how far the cancer had spread wouldn’t be something I could do alone. And she was right. I didn’t like that was right. Not at all. Yes, I wanted my uterus out. And yes, having cancer was hard. But up until that point, I had handled everything by myself - and I desperately wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t want to share my news. I didn’t want to make it real. I didn’t want to ask for help. And the waiting? That was the worst part. I was spinning on repeat. I was thinking about the past. About a future I might not have. About cancer as a possible, “end note”. My body eventually intervened - I developed shingles from the stress. It was my body’s way of telling me I couldn’t keep carrying this alone anymore. So I chose people I trusted. The people I knew could get me to the other side of the procedure.
I knew the cancer had spread. I wanted it to spread. I wanted my uterus out so the only way that was going to happen is if the cancer had spread... Otherwise they would not give me a hysterectomy. When Dr. Poo called me again, I remembered his exact words, “Well… Congratulations, you have adenocarcinoma in situ. You got your wish. The cancer has spread. You will need a radical hysterectomy to treat the cancer and I will be referring you to an oncologist”. Congratulations? Yes, I did want my uterus out. But… Did I want cancer? No. I know I had asked for this…but my nervous system went into overdrive. I swung between pretending I was fine and desperately trying to calm myself - wearing my “everything is fine” mask in public, then turning inward with Reiki, positive thoughts, and quiet bargaining. I told myself the cancer would only spread a little. I told myself I would be fine. I was trying to regulate the fear the only way I knew how. I focused on getting my uterus out. I focused on that positive outcome. And there were of course scary and sad moments. There were a few people that I felt safe with shedding tears with. To those that held space for me… thank you. Back then, even saying the word cancer felt impossible.
My cone procedure was in March 2022. I waited until June 2022 to get my radical hysterectomy. Remember that scene in Twilight when Edward leaves and Bella is just waiting by the window? That’s what this felt like. Time would move but… slowly. I could never prepare myself for the manifestation that was about to unfold. I had no idea, but the person I was before, she was going to die.
Goodbye
Uterus!
Amandafesting
Amandafesting
What in the actual fuck…
…is my lower back pain gone?
My cousin met me the night before my surgery and we went for a “walk” down by the water. The doctors had told me that I needed to walk 30 minutes a day to get my strength up for the surgery. Ya right. I couldn’t stand for longer than 5 minutes so walking was just out of the question. But my cousin marched my ass around that pier and sat with me when I needed breaks… every 5 minutes. The next morning she wheeled up to my place bright and early to pick me up for my surgery… she understood the mission of keeping this an upbeat journey because she made me a “Goodbye Uterus” card… filled with puns. “Your monthly subscription has been cancelled” “This thing has been cramping your style”. “This thing is hystory”. Fuck. I knew I had chosen the right humans.
My surgery for my radical hysterectomy was complicated and long…. They cleared out the cancer from my cervix and… it had not spread a lot. (Thank you Reiki!) They also discovered stage 4 endometriosis. Endo what?? How do you even say that word? Stage fucking 4?! I recall hearing that word once before… at one point my doctors thought it might be endometriosis but had “ruled it out”. They said it was fibroids and cysts most likely causing all the bleeding, all the pain, not endometriosis. I remember trying to absorb everything they were telling me while I was still high as a kite coming out of surgery… “Endometriosis… Your uterus was attaching to your rectum”… “One of your ovaries was plastered to the uterus wall”. There is a whole side bar and ongoing story with my ovaries too… I’ll save those details for the book.
My healing process was messy and long (it still is in many ways). The doctors told me that I would need to walk to help with my recovery. Again… Me? Walk? HA. That’s hilarious. What don’t these doctors understand about “I don’t walk” and “it hurts to walk”. I’ll be fine on my couch, just let me go home, back to my food, my comfort. The team at the hospital said to get out of the hospital I would need to fart so I reluctantly agreed to go for fart walks… I had help though… Captain America showed up and he took me on a stroll around the halls in the hospital. That was a fairytale moment in my cancer journey… one I still give gratitude for to this day and I’ll share more about in my book. My tummy was in a lot of pain. I had a giant setback in my healing when my wound opened up. Yes, opened up. Just like the hero he is, Captain America was there to save me that day too. I was on a lot of pain meds, but I felt like I was on the mend doing what I needed to do to heal.
One day I found myself using my sit/stand desk to stand so I could stretch and move a tiny bit… then it dawned on me… like I had just snapped out from all the trauma of the surgery and the complications… How long had I been standing?! The pain wasn’t registering in my brain… my lower back should be caving to the ground by this point…my insides should be bursting… they should be everywhere on the ground…why…what. the. fuck… I sat down. I was in disbelief. I stood up again. I set a timer. 10 minutes. I stood for 10 minutes. I sat again. I stood again. I stood for 15 minutes. I did this until I was up to 30 minutes. HOLY SHIT! 30 minutes!!! Where the fuck did that lower back pain go? The lower back pain that kept me on the couch for 10 years?
I remember the first time I went for a walk around my block. I had never done that before. Tears of joy.
I remember the first time I went on a hike with my friends in Barrie. Tears of joy.
I remember the first time I was in a magical rainforest on Vancouver Island. Tears of joy. P.S. Unicorns definitely live here.
I remember the first time I climbed through mountains in Banff. Tears. So many happy tears.
I remember… New York City, Orlando, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Greece, Turkey…
I remember getting into that hot air balloon in Cappadocia. I remember flying. Tears of joy, of gratitude.
Amandafesting
Amandafesting
Cancer is the best thing that ever happened to me.
That sounds so fucked up to say, right? Cancer was a good thing? Let alone the best thing?
My intuition and my body knew my uterus needed to come out. I reflect on my journey all the time. I was told my entire life by health care practitioners that I just “needed to lose weight” that my back pain would be gone if I just walked and moved more. Without the symptoms from endometriosis, I may never have found the cancer. Without the cancer, I would never have found the endometriosis. I would not be experiencing what it is like to walk, to move, without the eviction of my uterus. For these reasons, I have gratitude for both cancer and endometriosis.
You know… personal growth is a wild ride. I continue to do a lot of work on myself - choosing better health, nurturing relationships, and being mindful of what I bring in and allow into my life. I’m still definitely a giant cry baby. I often shed tears, both for the grief and joy. The grief is for what I missed out on in my life and what I’ve had to let go of to keep my peace and keep moving forward. The joy is for the incredible journey I’m on and the amazing people who ride it out with me, keep doing the work, and keep moving forward.
I continuously find ways to lean into Amandafesting and modalities that help me learn, grow, and heal, just like Reiki. I am open to tuning into signals and considering different perspectives, exploring how any “setbacks” or “hiccups” in my life might be ways my body and the universe are trying to communicate with me.
What I do know is that I will forever chase hot air balloons, aiming for my aspirations. My body and my choices are mine alone, and I will fiercely defend them. Like an alpaca that spits back when provoked, I will stand against anyone who tries to dictate what I can or cannot do, and what I should or should not feel. My journey is my own, and I will not be confined by the limitations others seek to impose. I choose to Aim and Align, allowing my intuition to guide me, noticing the opportunities that come my way, and dedicating myself to living authentically and freely. And now? I get to help others turn inward, trust themselves, and move toward their own aspirations too. Aim and Align.
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