I was young. Too young, I thought, to be sitting in that waiting room. I had children at home watching me, a community I loved, and a life I was not ready to negotiate with.
I was also a South Asian person navigating a healthcare system that had not been built with me in mind. The stigma, the silence, the instinct to protect family from worry, the private shame that can gather around illness - none of it fit neatly into the pamphlets I was handed.
Then my community showed up. They cooked for my children, drove me to appointments, sat with me when words were too much, and held my hand in waiting rooms. I was held. I was rooted. I was not alone.
But I looked around and saw people just as young, just as scared, and just as lost, navigating cancer without anyone who understood their culture, language, family, or fear. I was one of the lucky ones. That should not be a matter of luck.