advocacy

How Cervivor Empowered Me

My doctor called me on November 11, 2020, and told me over the phone that I had cervical cancer, and after I slid down the kitchen counter and physically got up off the floor, I started Googling ‘cervical cancer’. I knew where my cervix was and I knew I had cervical dysplasia in my 20s that had gone without treatment as it disappeared and the next pap was normal. But all of a sudden, I was a cancer patient. I was going to have a radical hysterectomy and bilateral oophorectomy. I was going to be genetically counseled and tested to find out I had a BRCA gene mutation. My body had turned against me. When I learned cervical cancer and HPV were linked, I was convinced I was contaminated and dirty and bad. It was the height of the pandemic and I was alone and scared. 

I found Cervivor on YouTube first and watched every video. Later I found Cervivor on Facebook and joined I’m A Cervivor! and introduced myself. Between the website and all the Cervivor stories, I became informed. I understood my options and I understood what my experience might be like. I had this knowledge and a sense of community, and I felt empowered. I was ready to fight cancer because of Cervivor.

The Cervivor community was a lifeline on those nights I was afraid I was dying. It is still a part of my daily life today, after my one-year cancerversary. With Cervivor, we laugh together, we cry together, we learn from each other, we share our stories, we live our lives, we are still living, and we honor those who are no longer with us. Now that I am a survivor of Stage 1A2 cervical cancer, I am helping to support others by offering my shoulder to lean on and sharing advice and experiences with others going through the same diagnosis.

Cervivor is my support and hope. It felt like finding my family because I am an orphan and have no living family. They were at my side in the OR as part of my visualization exercise for a successful surgery. They were there as I dealt with the consequences of my surgery. Suddenly, I had a beautiful diverse rainbow of sisters from all walks of life, and we were all joined by our experiences and making sure that no one else would go through what we had gone through if we could help educate others. I learned something from every single one of them and continue to learn from them at every meetup and through every call and text to a Cervivor sister. 

Cervivor has changed my life for the better. Programs from Cervivor comforted me after surgery and inspired me to take control of my body and my health in ways I had never done before. For example, I’ve lost 54 pounds and I’m healthier than the day of my diagnosis. I may not have any female reproductive organs in my body anymore, but I am still a strong bad@&$ babe. I am still fighting and adjusting to my body after cancer treatment, but I am also fighting for others, and I will never give up!

Cervivor taught me that cervical cancer actually gave me a superpower – the power to save lives by educating people on how we can end cervical cancer. Our stories matter. We are personal experts in our stories of cervical cancer and how much it takes from us. Cervivor teaches us to give back by raising our voices. Knowledge is power. The information and resources about HPV and cervical cancer from Cervivor can encourage vaccination and give patients the support they need. 

Cervivor prepared me and supported me, and now I am paying it forward in my community and online. For me, “Informed. Empowered. Alive.” is one of my life’s purposes now. Thank you, Cervivor, I love you! Each and every one of us, no matter where we are in the cervical cancer experience – from those who have had dysplasia and an HPV diagnosis to those of us who have metastasized – it is an honor to count myself amongst us. We are empowered! Let’s make cancer pay!

Pixie Bruner lives in the Atlanta metro area and is already a one-year survivor of stage 1a2 cervical cancer. She is a roleplaying game author, poet, historian, and academic guest lecturer on Classical Studies. She is a NASA Night Sky Network award recipient for education. Her hobbies include art, stargazing, dressing like a cat, coloring (including her hair in random crazy colors), and she is a voracious bookworm under five feet tall. Pixie advocates for cervical cancer awareness by sharing Public Cervix Announcements to total strangers. She is currently starting a joint project with other survivors in her area (Teal Sisters of GA) to fight the stigma of HPV, crush the ignorance of cervical cancer and HPV-related health issues, encourage HPV vaccination, and educate on cancer screenings and treatment for everyone.

Blank Verses, Short Stories, and Other Musings

Each night, I climb into bed, prop up on my red, corduroy reading pillow that has followed me from college all those decades ago and slowly open a small, bound book. Pen in hand, I take a deep breath and begin a scribbled conversation that has kept me sane since my April diagnosis of synchronous cervical and uterine cancers. That book, this pen, those words are my free therapy. And I am better for them.

The magic of words was made plain to me in childhood. I taught myself to type on Mom’s gunmetal gray, Royal Underwood typewriter, pecking away on two fingers to churn out a neighborhood newsletter. Adolescence brought dreams of growing up to study Creative Writing, joining a writers’ colony in the Vermont woods and becoming the next Nikki Giovanni, Alice Walker, Gwendolyn Brooks…you see where this is going? Well, as too often happens, adulthood altered those dreams, and this English Literature major became a government trial lawyer in Massachusetts—still using words to shrewdly sway jurors and to sharply skewer opponents—but I always maintained a growing collection of blank verse, short stories, and other musings that one day could be shared with somebody. Anybody.

Doris’s cancer journal

Perhaps all that explains why one of the first errands I made immediately after my diagnosis was a search for the right journal to house my feelings—all the scary, happy, and unnamed things that would come my way along this journey. This vessel could not be flimsy or cheesy. No, buddy. This word-keeper had to be worthy of the emotions that would leak out onto its pages. Here is where I would explain how this “cancer thang” discombobulated us all. 

I had always proclaimed that I planned to blow out candles at my centennial birthday party. How could the threat of mortality come knocking at my door now, when my married daughter in Mississippi (Lord help us) needed me after giving birth to our first grandchild in March? And my son was 2,000 miles away in the Boston area, having just survived a divorce and a torn Achilles tendon. He had a hard time handling my illness. My husband was trying mightily to cope with his own anxieties about my health and all the myths and stigmas associated with cancer. This was way too much for a cheap, lightweight notebook. Only a special book could cradle those complicated realities.

My chosen, pink pen pal has never failed me. Its sturdy pages have given me space to vent about the things it has been hard to articulate to folks: the chest port that feels reminiscent of alien abduction anecdotes; the tutorial on dilator use that made the nursing assistant blush; the way I could discern the texture of food (even water), yet not its taste; the exhilarating freedom of a shaved head displayed to all the world. And it has let me weep onto its cream-tinted pages, wrinkled testament to the overwhelming sadness that comes with this journey at the oddest times. 

This journal is so much more than frequently illegible cursive words. No, these pages are quite often a battle cry, this warrior’s call to arms against the most unexpected enemy: her own cells. These pages are like an old-timey, gutbucket, blues chart from backwoods juke joint—a full-throated, belly-wail of agony and joy, growled by one who knows the score (literally and figuratively) and ain’t afraid to tell you all about it. And, always, always, that hard-cover book is my hymnal, sketching lines of praise to Him in Whose armor I outfit myself every day. This little unassuming book contains uniquely metered lyrics of love and faith and strength. 

I will write my way out of this Egypt. The inked lines will chart the path to my Red Sea….

A sixth generation Texan from San Antonio, Doris Helene White earned a B.A. from Central State University in Ohio (an historically black institution) and a juris doctorate from Boston University School of Law. Her career in the government sector as a Massachusetts trial attorney reaffirmed her commitment to an equitable legal system. Retired in 2014, Doris returned home, where she indulged a passion for writing, became an amateur advocate for the history of African Americans in these United States and continued active affiliation with San Antonio Black Lawyers Association, Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Jack and Jill of America, Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church and other community organizations. Her husband Steven Soares, daughter Dr. Leigh Soares and son Steven Cooper Soares lead the best “cancer posse” in the galaxy!