Cancer was a very happy journey for me.

I know. Who says that about cancer?

But I do.

That doesn’t mean I enjoyed having cancer. I had a mastectomy, breast reconstruction, eight chemotherapy sessions and 25 radiotherapy sessions. I lost my hair, had pain and had low days. But I did not make breast cancer my entire personality.

When I look back, I also remember being surrounded by love, working from my chemotherapy bed, singing when I felt low, putting on makeup and jewellery to cheer myself up—and having far too many conversations about my bald head, which I thought was uniquely beautiful.

Most importantly, I believed: “This too shall pass.”

It started with a lump I wasn’t even sure was a lump. Sometimes I could feel it; I would change position and suddenly I couldn’t.

Then my nipple started turning inward and I noticed discolouration. That was different.

I went to the doctor, had a mammogram and was advised to have a biopsy.

On 1 May 2024, I received my report and sent it to my brother in the United States. He is a vascular surgeon.

He told me I had cancer.

Then he said, “You have five minutes to cry.”

I didn’t cry.

But his message was clear: we were going to face it, fight it and not give up. And I was not going to fight it alone.

After that, things happened almost like magic. I got an early appointment with a highly sought-after oncologist and my PET scan was arranged within days. Suddenly, this frightening thing in front of me had a plan around it.

My cancer was Stage II, ER/PR-positive and HER2-negative. Four lymph nodes were removed; one was positive and three were clear.

My breast could not be saved, so I had a mastectomy with immediate reconstruction. My sister-cousin, a psychologist who had flown from Karachi and moved in with me during treatment, encouraged me to go for the reconstruction.

I am very glad I did.

My plastic surgeon explained everything so reassuringly that I felt he wasn’t just a surgeon—he was an artist preparing his next masterpiece.

And apparently, I was the canvas. 😊

My breast was reconstructed using tissue from my tummy. I still joke that nature had finally found a productive use for the extra tummy fat I had been carrying around all those years.

Then came chemotherapy.

My oncologist suggested a Port-a-Cath, which spared me the repeated hunt for a good vein. After my third chemotherapy session, I developed a terrible rash, so my oncologist carefully monitored the remaining treatments and administered the medicines slowly.

I trusted my doctors completely.

Completely means completely.

I didn’t spend my days Googling cancer.

My thinking was: They know cancer, let them take care of the cancer. I know Maria, I’ll take care of Maria.

There is already enough happening during treatment without lying awake at 2 a.m. diagnosing yourself with seventeen additional diseases on Google.

And suddenly, when you have cancer, everybody seems to have completed an oncology fellowship.

“Take haldi.”

“Go to that hakeem.”

“Someone I know went to a pir…”

No.

I would think, Are the doctors mad? Are scientists spending their lives researching cancer for entertainment? If haldi could cure cancer, surely somebody would have noticed by now.

My message to anyone going through cancer is simple: trust your doctors and follow proper medical advice.

While my doctors did their work, I continued doing mine.

Literally.

I never stopped working.

There were days when I attended office meetings from my chemotherapy bed.

Chemo on one side. Office on the other.

During my 25 radiotherapy sessions, I developed severe burns and scarring, but I still continued going to work.

My workplace was one of the biggest sources of support during my journey. My bosses and colleagues looked after me so well that I felt completely pampered.

Three young men at work even offered to shave their heads when I lost my hair.

I said absolutely not.

“You only have to look at one bald head. Why are you subjecting me to three bald heads?” 😊

They could keep their hair.

My housekeeper, who often accompanied me to hospital, had his own opinion about my bald look.

“Tusi baray sonay lag rahay ho tind ich.”

Basically:

“Madam, that bald head is looking fabulous on you.”

There. Problem solved.

Later, when a tiny bit of hair had grown back, my seven-year-old grand-niece saw me wearing a cap at a family wedding and told me to take it off.

She thought I looked prettier without it.

Sometimes a seven-year-old can settle in seconds what adults spend weeks worrying about.

Cancer also showed me that living alone and being alone are two completely different things.

My brothers came from the United States. My sister-cousin came from Karachi and stayed with me. Another cousin took time off work to accompany me. A friend came from the UK. My family, friends, colleagues and housekeeper surrounded me with support.

That is why I was shocked when I heard stories of women whose husbands—or even brothers—abandoned them after cancer.

So my message to men is very serious:

Please do not leave a woman because she has cancer.

Whether she is your wife, sister, mother or daughter, this is when she needs you beside her. I know what that support can do because I had it.

Throughout treatment, I tried to keep doing things that made me feel like myself.

Before cancer, I lifted weights. After surgery, I had to stop for a while, so I walked instead. I went for drives. I worked. I dressed up. I put on makeup. I sang loudly when I felt like singing.

Of course I had low days.

Being cheerful doesn’t mean being happy 24/7.

Sadness was welcome to visit, but it wasn’t moving in and becoming my whole personality. Mine wasn’t getting that promotion.

Eventually, I returned to the gym.

I am lifting weights again.

Cancer did many things, but apparently it could only keep me away from the weights temporarily.

And there is something I especially want women to know.

I wasn’t certain about my lump at first.

Women are very good at postponing themselves. There is always somebody else to care for, something else to finish, something that feels more urgent.

Please don’t do that with your health.

If something in your breast feels different, get it checked. Do not wait until your body has to shout at you. Put yourself first. Prioritise your health. That is not selfish.

My follow-up results have been clear so far.

I still work. I still exercise. I still sing. I still dress up. I still joke with people and make them laugh.

Cancer didn’t make me cheerful.

I was already cheerful.

And it didn’t manage to change that.

I used to joke that, thank God, the doctors removed my cancer and not my sense of humour.

My faith carried me too. Whenever I felt low, I thanked Allah for His blessings and placed what I could not control in His hands.

Every morning I wake up and think: I have one more day.

So what am I supposed to do with it?

Live it to the fullest – with Immeasurable Gratitude

That is why I can still say something that sounds very strange:

Cancer was a very happy journey for me.

Cancer itself was not the happy part.

The people were. The love was. The support was. The care and kindness were. The loud laughter was. And through all of it, I still got to be the same hopeful, positive and happy Maria. Truly Blessed & Grateful.❤️