Cancer. A word that can shatter the strongest spirit in an instant. I’ve spoken that word countless times as a physician, sitting across from patients whose worlds changed with its echo. But nothing prepares you for the moment you hear it spoken to you. As a woman, a doctor, a wife, and a mother, I’ve spent my life helping others heal—never imagining I’d be the one fighting for my own. What I didn’t realize then was that this diagnosis, as devastating as it seemed, would become one of my greatest teachers. It stripped me down to my essence, forcing me to confront what truly matters: love, surrender, and the profound resilience that lives within us all.
What Cancer Taught Me
What is it about the Big “C” word that brings each of us to our knees?
Growing up, I watched my grandfather go through cancer. He lost half his jaw, food had to be pureed for him, his speech changed, he had to have poison infused into him, killing his cells – not only the bad, but also the good. He was never the same. But still … he was pretty amazing! He had a great attitude throughout. Perhaps that’s why he lived for over a decade after his diagnosis of oral cancer.
But then it came back, and it took my sweet grandpa away from us. The man who was the source of our constant, unconditional love as we grew up. The one who held my little hand and went on walks with me, taught me numerous card games, and was always smiling with what he called “his half chin”. He was gone … he didn’t meet my incredible husband, attend my wedding, or get to love my beautiful children.
As an Ob/Gyn and a Functional Medicine Physician, I have had the arduous task of telling too many of my patients that they had cancer … some had breast, some endometrial, others cervical, and then some ovarian. Many of us women relate our femininity to having and maintaining our breasts and reproductive organs. They define femininity for us. They develop as we finally become a “woman” from a “girl” (as we are told when we are young). But do these pieces of our body, these organs, actually symbolize our femininity? If they are no longer present, do we stop being a woman? This is indeed a very complex question. One that I’ve had to ponder very deeply over the past 6 years.
This month marks 6 years of me being “Cancer Free”. It calls for not only a celebration but also a deep dive into my journey and the lessons I have learned and feel called to share.
What My Breast Cancer Taught Me
When I first heard the words “You have breast cancer,” it felt like time stopped. The world, once so familiar, suddenly became foreign. I remember the sterile smell of the room, the look on my doctor’s face, and the rush of fear that flooded my chest. Nothing prepares you for that moment. But as I sit here now, on the other side of treatment, healing still in progress (as it always will be), I realize that breast cancer—though brutal—has also been one of my greatest teachers and an incredible gift.
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My Body Is Not My Enemy
Before cancer, I often criticized my body—its shape, its scars, its imperfections. But through the surgery, the chemotherapy, the radiation, and the days I could barely move, I began to see my body differently. It wasn’t flawed—it was fighting. Every cell, every organ, every breath was part of a quiet rebellion against disease. My body showed me a resilience I never acknowledged before, and now, instead of judgment, I offer it compassion and gratitude.
I have been able to offer the same lesson of loving our bodies to all my patients since then. All our bodies are beautiful. They are meant to carry us through this journey called LIFE! They deserve our love, care, and adoration, not criticism and change. What truly matters at the end of the day is how healthy those billions of cells are in our bodies. How we nurture those cells through nutrition, activity, joy, meditation, yoga, hydration, and above all, self-love will determine their future. Our body is the vessel that carries our heart and soul on our journey. Let’s treat it with the utmost care and respect.
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Vulnerability Is Strength
Cancer stripped me raw. It presented itself at one of the worst times in my life. There is never a “good” time to get a cancer diagnosis. But I can honestly say, this felt like the absolute worst. My darling husband, Ayeez, was battling a brutal illness, ALS. I was his 24/7 caretaker, his doctor, his researcher, and his hope for survival. I was his lifeline. I did not have the luxury of being sick and caring for myself. I simply did not have time. My kids, work, husband, and the ALS community were counting on me. I had to finally learn to be vulnerable and realize I needed help. I could not do it all on my own. That vulnerability was the strength that got me through one of the most brutal times of my life.
There was no room to pretend everything was okay. It was not okay! Some days I cried without knowing why, some nights I lay awake terrified of the unknown, some days I sat outside looking at the 8-foot deep pool in our backyard, thinking how much better it would feel at the bottom of that water. But in opening up to others—friends, family, even strangers—I found real strength to go on. I learned that asking for help isn’t a weakness; it’s courage. And in sharing my truth, I created space for others to share theirs, too.
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Letting Go Is Essential
I used to be someone who needed control—of schedules, outcomes, expectations, my husband’s ALS prognosis, my kids’ mental health – they now had both parents with potentially fatal diagnoses. How do 15 and 18-year-old kids cope with the possibility of becoming orphans in the very near future, and having to be on the caregiving team for both parents?Cancer shattered my illusion of control. I had to surrender to the process, to trust myself, my chosen team of experts (both traditional and holistic), to accept uncertainty, and to accept what was. In that surrender, I found a strange kind of freedom. I learned to let go of what no longer served me: toxic relationships, guilt, unrealistic standards. Life is too short to carry unnecessary weight. I was not in charge any longer. I truly, sincerely, and completely surrendered to the universe’s plan.
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Love Is a Healing Force
When I look back on my healing journey, what stands out most isn’t the medicine, the treatments, or even the milestones—it’s the love that carried me through every stage. I felt it in countless ways: my siblings who dropped everything and flew across the country to be by my side; my children who held my hands and whispered strength into my weakest moments; my husband, even in his own struggle with ALS, whose eyes told me I was still whole; and my mother, who held me as I cried into the nights.
Friends cooked for us, prayed for us, and showed up to my appointments. Nurses and technicians went beyond their duties, sitting beside me, sharing stories, making me laugh when laughter felt impossible. And then there were the messages—from patients, colleagues, and even strangers—reminding me that my voice, my fight, and my vulnerability mattered.
Love was in every meal delivered, every prayer whispered, every quiet act of kindness. It wove a safety net beneath me when I was certain I would fall apart. I realized healing isn’t just physical—it’s the energy of compassion that surrounds you, uplifts you, and reminds you that you are never alone. Love, in all its forms, became my most powerful medicine.
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I Am So Much More Than My Diagnosis
Cancer tried to take center stage in my life, but I refused to let it define me. I am still me—curious, creative, stubborn, kind. I am a woman who has known pain and joy, fear and faith, despair and hope. Cancer is just a chapter in my story, not the whole book. And I am still writing.
When I went for my first chemotherapy, I remember telling my family, I don’t want this to be a sad day. I want to enter the room like a warrior princess. So picture this… the nurses were astonished as they saw our entourage of 5 women (family and friends) wearing hand-painted, personalized, bright pink T-shirts with empowering messages created by my daughter, Zoe. We had pink boas around all our necks, Zoe with a pink tutu, and pom poms, as though she was the leader of this cheer team. We walked in with goodies for all. We were not going to let cancer define us. We came ready … to laugh, to share joy with the other patients and nurses there, and to let cancer know …”You DO NOT define ME!”
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Joy Can Coexist With Pain
Even in the darkest days, there were moments of light: a belly laugh with a friend, the warmth of the sun on my skin, my mother stroking my hair, my sisters rubbing my aching legs, my brother driving me to my appointments, my sweet children giving me hope, the taste of tea on a sore throat.I learned that joy doesn’t need perfect conditions—it finds us, even in grief, even in loss. I now notice life’s small miracles more than ever, and I hold them close.
What Breast Cancer Gave Me
It gave me perspective. It gave me permission … to prioritize self-care despite everyone needing me. It reminded me that time is precious, presence is powerful, and healing is rarely linear. It taught me to live more slowly, love more fiercely, and speak more honestly. It taught me to truly surrender.
Would I have chosen this journey? No. But I honor it. Because in surviving, I have become more alive than I ever thought possible.
Final Thoughts:
Breast cancer changed me. It hurt me. It challenged me. But it also awakened me. As Rumi says, it cracked me open so that light could enter me. It made space for a deeper version of myself to step forward—one who values authenticity over appearances, presence over perfection, and peace over proving anything to anyone.
If you’re walking through your own storm—whether cancer, grief, loss, or something else—I want you to know: you are not alone. You are more powerful than you know. And you are allowed to break down and rise again. As many times as it takes.
This is not the life I planned. But it’s the one I’m learning to love. One honest breath at a time.
With love and healing,
Dr. Shelena Lalji
