by Exhibiting Author Antoinette Truglio Martin

Stories fill our lives. We wake up, meander through our routines, and return to the day’s end. Along the way, stories collect. They are born from our observations, interactions, and adventures. We celebrated the upside of life with stories. The hardships are pondered and wrestled with as we attempt to steer from a dark abyss. The stories that stand out are shared. Memorable ones are retold, rewritten, remembered through the generations. We become storytellers.

In 2007, I was diagnosed with Stage 1 breast cancer. It was curable yet scary for this wimpy patient to hear the cancer words and endure treatments. After a year of cancer care-taking, I believed that I would never have to face the beast again. But cancer did reoccur in 2012 as Stage IV metastatic cancer. It is not curable and is scarier.

Cancer is an attention getter. It can’t be ignored and wants to be the center of attention, the topic of conversations, and the identity badge. It can take over a life story leaving epitaphs of battle scars.

My coping mechanism had always been writing. As a newlywed, I replayed mishaps in moving, setting up a home, and the first Christmas bush that fit in our little apartment. Parenthood insecurities and wonders were scratched in notebooks that fit in diaper bags. There are piles of lined journals chronicling the ups and downs of life. Journaling allowed me to get o the heart of my anxieties, face challenges, appreciate small blessings, have a good cry so I could just move on.

Through 2007, cancer cluttered my path. So I journaled. The words articulated better on paper. Emailing my family and friends was easier than a conversation. My memoir, Hug Everyone You Know: A Year of Community, Courage, and Cancer, came from that first year. I began compiling it after the second diagnosis. The cancer story chronicled only the first year because that was when I had to navigate the detours and hone courage. During that time, cancer did play a prominent role in my narrative. However, through the writing, I discovered that cancer was not the main story. It was a problem, but it was not the only problem. I could collect and tell other stories while dealing with cancer. I had graduations to celebrate, daughters to usher into adulthood, and beach days to enjoy. The memoir includes those stories.

Writing the memoir got to the core of truths. I am not a warrior. Rallying the masses and demanding cures is not my role. I don’t stand in a Superwoman pose and delegate strategies with confidence. There are so many others who are so good at it.

I am only an expert on what I do, and on most days, I am winging it. Sure, healthy attitudes, smiles, and positive mindsets are always helpful, but that’s all I got in tips. Writing works for me. I can root out the needed courage and remind myself that every day is a gift. My collected stories come to life on paper and computer monitor. Living for life is so much more rewarding than living for death. There are always wonders to discover that inspire the healthy attitude, smiles, and positive mindset.

I am blessed. My treatment options haven’t been too invasive nor debilitating. Whatever the future holds for the cancer is just one story—not my whole story. My epitaph won’t include the cancer battles. I aim to go out as the Storyteller.