Stained Tattoos: My Journey Through Cancer

After discovering a lump at the age of 39, Nicole Williams found herself on an unexpected journey of resilience and transformation. In the first episode of "Life We Live," Nicole shares her personal battle with breast cancer, likening the permanent impact of the experience to stained tattoos etched on her life. Listen as she reflects on ringing the bell in the oncology department, a powerful symbol of closing one chapter and embracing the next. Through her story, Nicole offers a poignant reminder of the strength found in community support and love during life’s toughest battles.

Listeners will hear how the metaphor of tattoos emphasizes the permanence of our stories, each mark telling a tale of resilience, strength, and survival. It's a reminder that, although these experiences can be difficult, they foster personal growth and a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

Episode Content ID
License codes for YouTube:
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Chapters

• 0:01 Show Welcome
• 0:50 Episode Intro
• 3:10 Part One - The End and Beginning
• 5:45 Part Two - The Lump
• 10:05 Part Three - The Diagnosis
• 14:32 Part Four - The Treatment
• 25:12 Closing

Transcript

The Life We Live
Meet Nicole Williams 

January 26, 2025

Episode One - “Stained Tattoos: My Journey Through Cancer”

Show Welcome

Welcome to "The Life We Live," the podcast where we dive into the stories of everyday people and the incredible lives they lead! I'm your host Nicole Williams, and each week, we'll explore the unique journeys, challenges, and triumphs of individuals from all walks of life. From artists and educators to entrepreneurs and community heroes, our guests share their experiences, insights, and the lessons they've learned along the way. Together, we'll celebrate the beauty of our diverse human experiences and discover the common threads that unite us all. 

So, whether you're on your morning commute, winding down after a long day, or simply looking for a dose of inspiration, join us as we connect, learn, and uncover the rich tapestry of life that surrounds us. Let’s get started!

Episode Intro 

This week marks a profoundly significant week for me, and what better way to commemorate this milestone than by embarking on my new journey with the launch of my very first podcast episode? Today, I take on the dual roles of both guest and host, and I have chosen to title my inaugural episode "Stained Tattoos: My Journey with Cancer." Spoiler alert: I have been battling breast cancer.

In this initial episode, I aim to share my deeply personal experiences, the challenges I faced, and the triumphs I celebrated as I navigated the intricate complexities of cancer. The title "Stained Tattoos: My Journey with Cancer" was born from the understanding that our experiences—especially the difficult and painful ones—leave indelible marks on us, much like tattoos. These "stains" serve as a representation of both the suffering and the beauty inherent in our journeys. I wanted a title that encapsulated the multifaceted nature of living with cancer, one that conveys how this experience has not only transformed me but also significantly influenced my sense of identity.

The metaphor of tattoos resonates strongly with the idea of permanence, emphasizing the stories we carry with us throughout our lives. Each mark tells a tale of resilience, strength, and survival, reminding listeners that they are not alone in their struggles. It’s essential to recognize that while these experiences can be challenging, they also contribute to our personal growth and understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

For me, this episode is incredibly personal and therapeutic, serving as a cathartic release as I reflect on my journey. It symbolizes the conclusion of one chapter of my life and the exciting beginning of another. I hope that by sharing my story, I can inspire others who may be facing similar battles and show them that there is hope, strength, and a community of support waiting for them on the other side of adversity. Through this podcast, I aim to create a space where we can connect, share, and uplift one another as we navigate the complexities of life, all while embracing the beauty that can emerge from even the darkest of experiences. Join me as we embark on this journey together, exploring the profound lessons that can be learned from the stains we carry and the markings that tell our stories.

Part One - The End and Beginning 

In true Nicole style, I find it fitting to begin at the end, which has ultimately paved the way for my new beginning. Today, I joyfully proclaim myself a survivor! I had the profound honor of ringing the bell, a significant emblem that signifies the conclusion of one chapter and the commencement of another. When I say I rang the bell, I mean it literally—I physically rang it. In most oncology departments that provide chemotherapy and cancer infusions, you will find a bell that patients ring upon completing their treatment. This act of ringing the bell is a powerful testament to triumph, representing not only the end of a grueling journey but also the immense courage required to navigate such a path.

This poignant moment is typically celebrated among loved ones, emphasizing the crucial importance of community support throughout this arduous experience. I was incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by my family as I completed my final infusion. Overwhelmed with joy, I wanted to ring that bell with such enthusiasm that it might just come crashing down from the wall! Rest assured, while my emotions were running high, I managed to keep my celebration modest, and the bell remained steadfastly in place for others to honor their own journeys.

Every time I entered the treatment area, I passed that bell, daydreaming about the moment I would finally get to ring it. It always felt so tantalizingly close, yet perpetually out of reach. I often found myself observing from my chemotherapy chair as others joyfully rang the bell, surrounded by their families, tears of joy flowing freely. Even as a complete stranger, I could not help but shed tears of happiness for them, knowing deep down that my day would eventually arrive.

The battle against cancer is undeniably tough, but it does not define an individual or the legacy they create. It has taken me time to fully grasp this concept, but I have come to realize that our journeys are shaped not just by the challenges we face but also by our resilience, the love we share, and the unwavering support we receive along the way. Each step forward is a testament to our strength and the bonds we forge throughout this remarkable journey.

Part Two - The Lump

My cancer journey started when I was just 39 years old, an age at which I had not yet reached the threshold for routine breast screenings. One warm summer evening, as I lay in bed, I rolled over and inadvertently found my breast pinched between my arm and the mattress. In that instinctive moment of readjustment, I discovered a lump. A wave of panic washed over me as I woke up, my thoughts spiraling into the worst-case scenarios. I attempted to reassure myself, insisting that it couldn’t possibly be true—I was far too young, had no underlying health conditions, and while anything could happen, surely it couldn’t be cancer.

The next day, I made an appointment with my doctor, who offered a comforting assurance that it was likely nothing serious. However, for caution's sake, they recommended a mammogram and ultrasound to eliminate any potential concerns. A day or two later, my husband and I found ourselves at the breast clinic for my appointment. It didn't take long for me to sense that something was not right. The technician became unusually quiet, and it was evident she had encountered similar situations far too often—yet she was unable to disclose her findings until a physician had reviewed them. What a challenging predicament to be in, to witness results that you cannot articulate. Perhaps there is a certain relief in knowing that the burden of delivering the news does not rest on your shoulders.

Eventually, they brought my husband into the room while the doctor examined the screening results. I looked at him and whispered, “It’s not good.” He inquired about what information had been shared, and I replied that nothing had yet been communicated. He tried to calm my nerves, suggesting we wait to hear what the doctor had to say. However, he couldn’t fully grasp the reality I had seen reflected in the technician’s face; we shared an indescribable moment, and even though she said nothing, her expression conveyed everything.

A moment later, the doctor entered, with the technician trailing closely behind. “What we see is concerning, and it’s highly likely that it is cancer.” From that point onward, I struggled to absorb what was being said; it felt as though I could only catch fragments of their conversation while I drifted in and out of my own thoughts. They likely anticipated a flood of tears from me, encouraging me to take as much time as I needed, but all I could think about was escaping that room as quickly as possible.

Upon stepping into my car, an enveloping silence filled the space between my husband and me. I wish I could recount an empowering moment of strength at this juncture of my story, but the reality is, I cried and reached out to my mom. Something I have since taken from this expereince is understanding that there is no need to feel compelled to be tough. Crying is not a sign of weakness, and that community and family cannot be overstated. In that moment, all I truly wanted and needed was the comforting presence of my mom and my husband. They could not alter the outcome or erase my fears, but their support provided me with the solace necessary to reframe my thoughts and focus on what was ahead—the next step in my journey.

As someone who naturally tends to dream and plan, I usually look at the larger picture and work my way backward. However, in the face of cancer and as I navigated my path toward becoming a survivor, I had to adapt my approach. I learned to concentrate solely on the present moment and the very next step, as the bigger picture felt overwhelmingly daunting and filled with uncertainty. Each small step became a vital part of my journey, guiding me through the challenges ahead.

Part Three - The Diagnosis 

My next step in this harrowing journey was to uncover my diagnosis. Although the process felt never ending, I ultimately learned what I was facing within a few weeks. My mother had come to stay with me, alongside my husband and our two children. Those weeks felt like the longest stretch of my life. Every minute was fraught with anxiety, as I grappled with the terrifying thought that these could be my last moments. I worried about missing out on seeing my children grow up, get married, and have families of their own. I feared for my husband, contemplating the loneliness he would endure if I were no longer by his side, and I felt an overwhelming sense of failure regarding the promise I made in my vows to grow old with him. In short, I was struggling to cope with the weight of uncertainty.

If it hadn't been for my family, who devoted every moment to distracting and comforting me, I honestly don't know how I would have managed to get through that period. Amidst the heaviness of the situation, I did find fleeting moments of laughter, clinging to and cherishing each instance as if it could be my last. I felt lost, transitioning from a life filled with plans and dreams to one consumed by questions of “What now?” and “How can I plan or dream if I might not be here?” While I had always understood that tomorrow was never guaranteed, there’s a cruel reality in the knowledge that there may be no tomorrow at all.

It was during this anxious waiting period that I celebrated my 40th birthday—if you could call it a celebration. I often joke that I’m not truly in my 40s because my birthday didn’t count, given the circumstances. 

Weeks later, I finally received confirmation that I had cancer. As I sat in the consultation room, anxiously awaiting news of the stage and extent of the disease, I was grateful to have my mother on one side and my husband on the other. My oncologist was running late, and just as my mom began to voice her frustrations—she was just as stressed and worried but felt the need to remain strong for me—he popped his head in and said, “I apologize for the delay; I’ll be with you shortly. We have a lot to discuss, but the good news is that it hasn’t spread beyond your breast.” 

The relief that washed over us in that moment is something that words can hardly convey. Tears streamed down our faces as we realized that nothing else mattered at that moment; I could overcome this, and there was still a possibility of a future ahead of me.

I recognize that not everyone is as fortunate as I am; some may hear those dreaded terms like "maintenance care" or "stage 4." However, through the many individuals I've met during my treatment journey, I have come to understand that we all eventually reach a new normal, a place of acceptance. We come to realize that every encounter, every smile we share, and every gesture we make leaves an impression—a piece of ourselves that continues to live on, sometimes longer than we do. These impressions are incredibly powerful, and if they are imprinted deeply enough, they can last forever, much like fossils that others may discover, observe, and admire. In traits that carry on through our childeren or or our childerens children. The phrase we make that becomes viral in and out of our social circle, or the kindness we share that is paidfoward by the next person. We have the power to be present even when we are gone, we matter. 

Some find peace in this understanding, while others feel a sense of urgency to shape or reshape their impressions before time runs out. Ultimately, it is a reminder that even in the face of adversity, we have the ability to leave a lasting legacy through the connections we create and the love we share. Each moment is an opportunity to make an impact, to etch our stories into the lives of others, and to ensure that our journey, however challenging, is not in vain.

Part Four - The Treatment

The only way to truly encapsulate the experience of cancer treatment is to describe it as a blend of the good, the bad, and the messy. This was especially true for me. One particularly striking aspect of my journey was just how lengthy the treatment process turned out to be. Naively, I had assumed that once my cancer type and stage were confirmed, I would simply undergo surgery to remove it. However, that was not the case with my diagnosis. Believe it or not, receiving the diagnosis was just the beginning of a much longer journey.

The first phase of my treatment involved six rounds of chemotherapy, administered every three weeks. My regimen consisted of two chemotherapy drugs and two immunotherapies known as TCHP. Each successive round compounded the side effects, leaving me feeling progressively worse as the treatment continued. This pre-surgery treatment was designed to shrink the tumor and prevent the cancer from spreading. It was also the phase with the most intense side effects.

Despite these challenges, there were some positive aspects during this phase. Being relatively young, I found that I was able to maintain a semblance of normalcy in my daily activities, more so than many other patients on the same regimen. While everyone’s experience is unique, I felt incredibly fortunate to be able to carry on without completely losing myself. I watched numerous YouTubers who were on the same treatment—some younger, some older—struggling to function, feeling weak, and sleeping most of the time. I was frightened watching them, fearing that I would have a similar experience. A significant lesson I learned was the importance of not comparing my journey to others'. While we may share common threads in our stories and experiences, each of us has our own narrative, and we navigate our challenges differently.

Now, this may be a controversial perspective, but I must admit that I found a silver lining in one aspect of my treatment: not having to shave. While I appreciated this more once my treatment concluded and my hair began to grow back, I genuinely relished the freedom of not having to shave. My skin felt soft, and I noticed that my complexion appeared almost airbrushed. So even on days when I felt miserable, I could at least take comfort in how great my skin looked.

Additionally, I found the "good" in learning to let go of the need to be everything for everyone. I leaned on my friends and family for support, and it was truly heartwarming to witness their love and care during this challenging time. As someone who typically plays the role of the caretaker, I realized how important it is to allow others to support me. I discovered that cancer is a family disease; everyone experiences the challenges in their own way, and the burden is shared among loved ones.

On the flip side, the "bad" aspects of this treatment were, quite frankly, overwhelming. The entire process was grueling. I felt persistently nauseous, fatigued, and endured excruciating bone and nerve pain, especially after receiving the Neulasta shot to boost my white blood cell count. I lost my hair—when I say lost, I mean it fell out in clumps, affecting not just my scalp but also my eyebrows, eyelashes, and body hair. I lost hair I didn’t even realize I had, including the fine peach fuzz on my face and even the hair inside my nose. When my hair fell out, it didn’t do so gracefully; I looked more like a sick dog suffering from mange than anything else. Honestly, there was nothing profound or beautiful about that moment. I tried to navigate those days with grace, but there were certainly times when I was just plain miserable. 

Towards the end of this phase, I found myself exhausted; I had been hospitalized several times due to dangerously low potassium and magnesium levels, which caused my body to stiffen and curl inward. I kept pushing through my daily routine, pretending to be okay, but the truth was I was far from it. I was merely trying to survive while maintaining some semblance of composure. I once joked that everyone has a little bit of "crazy" in them. For me, I imagined my "crazy" neatly organized in mason jars on a shelf, all with the lids securely fastened. Occasionally, I might open a jar to take what I needed before closing it again. However, during this part of my journey, that shelf collapsed under the weight of cancer, sending my jars crashing to the floor, and scattering my "crazy" everywhere. 

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit dramatic, but there were indeed moments when I couldn’t stop crying, when my patience was razor-thin, and when I felt sorry for myself. While I would never wish this experience on anyone, not even my worst enemy, I often found myself asking, "Why me?" It’s a question that lingers, a testament to the struggle of grappling with the harsh realities of cancer and its impact on my life.

When I refer to the “messy” aspects of my cancer journey, I’m not only talking about the emotional turmoil—I also mean the physical chaos that accompanied it. Looking back, I can laugh now, but there were countless times when I found myself in compromising situations due to an uncontrollable stomach and a body that seemed to operate on its own terms. Whether I was stuck in traffic during a long commute home or in an office where I had to dash to the restroom, I often found myself praying I would make it in time. Sometimes I succeeded, but other times, well, not so much.

In those moments, there was nothing humorous about the situation, and the humiliation could be overwhelming. However, I was fortunate to have friends and family who knew how to lift me out of my slump with a well-timed funny GIF or a humorous YouTube video. One video, in particular, stands out in my memory. It was a countdown of how many days someone had gone without having an unfortunate incident (i mean pooping thier pants). The video would start with a number, like 265 days, only to have the next frame show them erasing that number and resetting the counter. 

In those challenging times, I discovered that laughing at myself became one of the best forms of medicine. Embracing humor allowed me to cope with the absurdities of my situation, reminding me that even in the midst of chaos, it’s possible to find joy and connection through laughter.

My journey didn’t conclude with my initial diagnosis or even my surgery. After undergoing a lumpectomy, I faced the next chapter of my treatment, which included 30 rounds of radiation and 14 rounds of immunotherapy, along with a less intense chemotherapy regimen. This phase of my treatment was just as challenging, yet it was marked by its own unique experiences and lessons. 

Throughout the nearly two years of my journey toward becoming a survivor, each stage brought with it its own blend of the good, the bad, and, perhaps, a bit less of the messy. With each round of treatment, I encountered both triumphs and setbacks, moments of hope intertwined with fear and uncertainty. The radiation sessions were long and draining, but they also became a time of reflection. I would often listen to music or podcasts, finding ways to escape, even if only temporarily, from the reality of what I was going through.

Immunotherapy introduced another layer to my experience, bringing with it a mix of anticipation and apprehension. While it was less harsh than my previous chemotherapy regimen, it still came with its own set of side effects that I had to navigate. Yet, through it all, I learned to celebrate the small victories—the days when I felt energetic enough to engage with my family, the moments when I could enjoy a meal without feeling nauseous, and the simple pleasure of laughter shared with friends.

This entire process has shaped me in ways I could never have anticipated. It has taught me resilience, patience, and the importance of community. I have learned to embrace the support of those around me, recognizing that I do not have to face this journey alone. Each treatment session brought me closer to my goal of survival, and each challenge reinforced my determination to emerge stronger.

So while my hair is now back even though I had a Blance Devoroux look alike moment (for those of you who know the iconic Golden Girl character, you are my peeps and those who don’t I highly recommend googling her), but it was nothing a little bleach, lipstick and lash extensions couldn’t fix. 

As I stand here today, I proudly claim the title of survivor. This moment is not just about surviving cancer; it’s about honoring the entire journey that has brought me to this point. It is a celebration of the strength I have found within myself and the love and support that has surrounded me throughout this experience. I am not merely a survivor of cancer; I am a testament to the power of hope, perseverance, and the unbreakable spirit that resides in all of us. This journey has transformed me, and while it has been fraught with challenges, it has also been filled with profound moments of growth and resilience that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

 Closing

As I reflect on this journey, I realize that cancer does not define me; it’s a stain, a marking, much like a tattoo that will remain with me forever. While it may fade over time, it has become an integral part of my identity. This experience has inspired me to elevate the voices of everyday people who have their own stories to tell—the stained tattoos of their lives that adorn their bodies and souls. Join me as we embark on this new journey together, sharing the stories that connect us all. Tune in to hear about resilience, hope, and the strength found in vulnerability. Let’s celebrate the beauty in our scars and the power of our stories.

Thank you for joining me, if you like this episode and want to support the creation of more episodes, visit me at buymeacoffee.com/thelifewelive

Until next time, embrace every moment and find joy in the life you live.