Cancer survivorship, the cost of recovery, and why we need more than advice to cope.
Three years on, the wounds may have healed, but the scars, side effects and ongoing consequences of breast cancer continue to shape the body, the mind and everyday life.
A reflection on the realities of cancer survivorship, ongoing treatment and the support we still need.
On 19 October 2026, I marked three years since my breast cancer surgery. Three years!
There is something about reaching an anniversary like this that invites reflection. You look back at the person you were before your diagnosis, the person you became during surgery and treatment, and the person you are still learning to be.
People often speak about cancer in terms of diagnosis, surgery, treatment and recovery. We talk about fighting, surviving and moving forward. We celebrate milestones, ring bells and share stories of resilience.
And while these moments matter, there is another part of the cancer experience that receives far less attention.
What happens when the immediate crisis passes, but cancer is still part of your everyday life?
What happens when everyone else thinks you are better, but your body tells a different story?
And perhaps the question I find hardest to answer:
“But is the cancer gone?”
I never quite know what to say.
Yes? Maybe? I don’t know?
I think I am cancer-free, for now, but what does that actually mean when I still live with the consequences of cancer every single day?
I take a pill every day. I do lymphatic massages every day, apparently never enough. I manage muscle tightness across my chest and arm, nerve damage, lymphoedema, pain, discomfort, skin changes, joint pain, fatigue and exhaustion.
Every month, I return to the cancer centre for my implant injection. There are what seem like endless MRIs, X-rays, check-ups, consultations and appointments. There is the ongoing treatment, the monitoring, the side effects and the constant awareness of a body that no longer feels quite the same.
And somewhere in between all of that, there is life.
Parenting. Working. Studying. Researching. Paying bills. The house. The dog. Running a business. Showing up. Trying to be present, trying to keep everything moving and trying to find enough energy for the ordinary things that other people might take for granted.
So, am I cancer-free?
I think so. But I still feel like I live with cancer every day.
Because even when there is no detectable cancer, the experience of having cancer does not simply disappear. The treatments continue. The side effects continue. The physical changes continue. And sometimes, the fear continues, too.
The prescription: a stress-free life
If I were to write down all the recommendations I have received to help manage the ongoing consequences of treatment, the list would look something like this, on a regular basis:
- Live a stress-free life.
- Have regular acupuncture.
- Attend physiotherapy.
- Do aquatherapy.
- Complete lymphatic exercises.
- Have regular lymphatic massages.
- Exercise regularly.
- Go to the sauna.
- Swim.
- Walk.
- Lift weights.
- Look after yourself.
- Eat well.
All good recommendations, in theory.
But these services cost money, take time and are not always available locally. They must fit around work, parenting, appointments and everyday responsibilities. Meanwhile, pain and fatigue and other health conditions, can make following the advice harder.
I understand the value of these treatments. The problem is access.
Being told what you need to recover is not the same as being able to afford it.
How can we expect people to prioritise their health when doing so may mean choosing between treatment, working, bills and caring for their children?
Recovery should not depend on how much money you have, how flexible your work is or whether someone else can take care of everything while you attend another appointment.
When stress is not a choice
My experience of cancer has unfolded alongside other significant challenges. I am an immigrant, a victim-survivor of domestic violence, I have other existing health conditions and a mother of two.
During radiotherapy, I experienced domestic violence and consequently, financial abuse and homelessness with my children and our dog. I was trying to undergo cancer treatment while finding safety and housing for my family and navigating complex systems. There was no pause button.
We are often told that stress is bad for our health. But what happens when the source of that stress is unsafe housing, financial pressure, systems failure, violence, lack of adequate and affordable healthcare and/or a lack of supports?
You cannot simply breathe your way out of homelessness. You cannot mindfulness your way into affordable healthcare. And you cannot be expected to manage every crisis alone while being told to focus on healing.
The question is not only how individuals can cope better. It is what we are doing to change the conditions that make coping so difficult.
What needs to change?
We talk about trauma-informed care, women’s safety, cancer survivorship and mental health. But when these issues intersect, people are often left navigating fragmented systems, repeating their stories and fighting for support when they have the least capacity to do so.
Awareness matters. But real change means making support work for people, not leaving people to make the system work.
We need better coordination between physical and mental health, housing, victims of crime services and domestic violence services. We need affordable rehabilitation and ongoing support after health treatments, like cancer treatments. We need practical assistance that recognises the realities of parenting, working and living with chronic treatment effects.We also need to listen to the people experiencing these gaps. Their lived experience should help shape the services and policies designed to support them.
This is not about blaming individual healthcare workers, which I cannot, everyone around me in Gosford Public Hospital has been wonderful , or dismissing the people doing their best within stretched services. It is about asking whether the systems themselves are meeting people’s needs.
Resilience is valuable, but it cannot replace safe housing, accessible healthcare, financial security or meaningful support.
We should not have to become exceptionally resilient just to access the basics needed to live and recover.
Life after cancer is still life
Three years later, I continue to navigate physical changes, pain, uncertainty and the demands of everyday life. I am grateful to be here, but gratitude does not erase the consequences of cancer.
You can be relieved to survive and still grieve the body you had before. You can continue working and caring for others while struggling in ways people cannot see, carrying pain and disabilities that go unseen. You can be doing well in some areas of life and still need support in others. Do well one day and not be able to get out of bed the next.
These experiences deserve recognition without requiring us to turn them into inspirational stories.
Cancer survivorship should mean more than monitoring whether the disease returns. It should include the support people need to live well with the physical, emotional and practical consequences that may remain.
My story is personal, but the questions it raises are bigger than me.
How do we make recovery more accessible? How do we ensure that people facing multiple challenges are not left to navigate them alone? And how do we turn conversations about wellbeing into practical action?
These are questions for our healthcare providers, policymakers, community organisations and all of us.
Three years after surgery, I am still here. But survival should be the beginning of continued care, not the point where support disappears and you are left alone to figure out how to do it and afford it all.
We need to move beyond telling people to cope and start building systems that make recovery genuinely possible.
Counselling on the Central Coast
At Link To Us, we recognise that cancer, trauma and major life changes affect more than physical health. Trauma-informed counselling can provide space to work through anxiety, grief, uncertainty and the emotional impact of what you have experienced.
If you are looking for counselling on the Central Coast, NSW, Link To Us offers counselling in Gosford and via telehealth.
If you are experiencing financial hardship discuss with us how we may be able to help you accessing our services.
Visit linktous.com.au or contact info@linktous.com.au.
Written by Lorena Fernandez Collazo, Founder of Link To Us.
