The Red Devil

Twenty Twenty-One, BC (before cancer):

2021 was the year of evolution for me. I was 43 years old. My husband and I had finally bought our dream home. My daughter had graduated from high school and was off to college, and my son was starting his freshman year of high school. To treat myself, I had decided to do a mommy makeover and had cosmetic surgery done to get a boob job and liposuction to slim my waistline. I'd been promoted to supervisor at my job and was the first black woman in my role at my organization, breaking boundaries and opening doors for other minorities. Self-care became my routine through weekly trips to the spa and retail therapy. My social life was climbing as I was invited to several events and became a media "It Girl" among my list of friends and followers on social media. My small circle of "friends" consisted only of women who shared the same vibe, energy, and status as I did. We were known as the "Pretty Girl Crew." Every weekend we were always somewhere having fun, traveling, partying, and drinking, of course. Through our bond, our husbands became friends. We were like an intimate fraternity and a sorority, and everyone who knew us wanted in. 

The Diagnosis: 

In March 2022, I was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer. Unlike many, I was not in shock or emotional when I received my diagnosis. Having worked in healthcare for years, being a "go-getter," and having been a nonchalant person by nature, I was more so ready to get treatment started so I could get it over with and move on with my life because I had more important things to do. I'd just finished my bachelor's degree and was accepted into the master's program starting in the fall. I was more focused on climbing the career ladder and proving that I'm just as qualified as my counterparts at work. In June 2022, I had a double mastectomy, which I tried to put off until July because I didn't want to miss the Prince Celebration in Minneapolis, as I am a huge fan. Cancer was just not on my priority list. 

The Red Devil: 

After having the mastectomy, in July, I started my first round of Adriamycin/Cytoxan, aka "red devil." I was prepared to lose my hair, but I wasn't prepared for the other losses that I would experience as a result of this repulsive chemo that felt like everything but therapy. The day of my first chemo, I was in disbelief at how good I felt and was questioning why everyone who's ever had "red devil" had negative experiences. I literally went home after chemo and ran suicides for 30 minutes and jogged around my neighborhood. Chemo was a piece of cake, or so I thought. By day three post chemo, that's when it all came crashing down. My energy was low, my body ached, my head burned like it was on fire, my appetite decreased, and I could barely walk from one room to the next without getting winded. The aches and pain were so bad that I tried "herbal therapy" as an attempt to get relief from the discomfort and burning feeling of chemo. As I am sitting on the couch watching a movie, I rub my burning head, and all of my hair is in my hand. I knew my hair would fall out, but I wasn't expecting it to happen with a matter of casually rubbing my scalp. The day I became completely bald with no breasts was the day chemo stole my soul. 

Stop! Thief!: 

Not only did the "red devil" snatch my hair from my scalp, but it also altered my looks. Over the course of treatment, my complexion became darker, and I started to see signs of premature aging. Under-eye bags developed, I had no appetite and lost 20lbs as a result. My teeth became brittle and started to break. And I had the worst case of adult acne. I lost my confidence. I no longer recognized myself. "Chemo brain" took over my once intelligent mind, and I developed memory issues that I am still struggling with today. I lost my desire for intimacy with my husband. At work, I was no longer admired as the respected ferocious leader that I was a few months prior. My "go-getter" persona had morphed into a vulnerable shell of who I used to be - uncertain and lacking self-motivation. The circle of women who showed up during the good times seemed to be less supportive or available during the hard times. So much for "sisterhood." Needless to say, they've been cut off. The "red devil" stole my life and identity, or did it?  

Lost & Found - Return to Sender:

After completing chemo, I thought I had lost the important things—my looks, my job, my "friends," my status, and my self-esteem. I did not know how to become vulnerable or dependent. I've always been a strong role model for my siblings, children, and peers. What I thought I lost from chemo turned out to be the grace and awakening I needed. The "red devil" became "the blood of Jesus." Not only did it shrink my tumor and cure my cancer, but it also helped me to build upon my faith and spirituality. Those days when all I could do was cry from pain and agony led me to pray more and become closer to God. The "red devil" removed me from a toxic work environment, toxic friends, toxic family members, and toxic behaviors. "The blood of Jesus" has blessed me with a new community of cancer survivors, a less stressful job, genuine friendships, and a sense of purpose. Everything that I thought was stolen from me was replaced at face value.