People love to say, “Just stay positive,” when you are in treatment. At first, I tried to do that, to keep a brave face and a smile no matter what was happening. Over time, I learned that forced positivity is not the same as real courage.
What has kept me going is something quieter and much deeper. It has nothing to do with pretending this is easy. It has everything to do with showing up for my life, even when it hurts.
I want to share what staying the course has really looked like for me, in case you are in this fight too, or love someone who is.
The Weight of “Just Stay Positive” Advice
People mean well when they say it. They want to comfort, to help, to keep things light. But when you are sick and worn down, those three words can feel like a heavy stone on your chest.
Why It Feels Impossible Some Days
Some days it feels impossible.
Not just hard. Not just tiring. It feels like there is no way you can do one more treatment, one more blood draw, one more night of pain.
On those days, “just stay positive” feels like someone telling you to climb a mountain with no rope.
A Deeper Kind of Staying the Course
Staying the course is much deeper than that.
It is not fake smiles. It is not pretending you are fine. It is learning what courage looks like in real life, in chemo chairs and hospital gowns and long drives home.
My Sixth Year in the Cancer Fight
I am in my sixth year of treatment. Six years of scans, blood work, waiting rooms, and a body that never quite feels like my own.
There have been many moments when I wanted to quit. Not because I do not value my life, but because the fight is just so long.
Moments of Wanting to Quit
On some of my worst days, I have wanted to stop because:
- My body hurt everywhere.
- My mind was foggy and slow.
- I stared at the treatment calendar and felt trapped.
- I could not picture a finish line.
The Chemo Chair as My Second Home
Last month, I sat in that familiar chemo chair, the one that has become my weird second home. The room smelled like antiseptic and warm blankets. The beeping of IV pumps blended into the background noise.
I remember staring at the drip and thinking, “I am so tired of this.”
Feeling Completely Done
In that moment, I felt empty and used up. My thoughts looped around one question, over and over: “How am I supposed to keep doing this?”
I did not have an answer. I only had the next minute, the next breath, the next drop in the line.
Cancer’s Uncertain Journey, No Clear Map
At some point, it hit me: this path does not have a clear map. There is no set route, no marked ending point I can see.
No GPS to Healing
Cancer is not like a GPS that tells you, “Turn right in 500 feet, and you’ll arrive at complete healing.”
There is no voice saying, “You’re almost there.” There is only the next appointment, the next result, the next choice.
Messy and Unexpected Companion
Cancer is messy and confusing. It shows up uninvited and often stays far longer than anyone wants.
Yet in a strange way, it has become a kind of companion. Not a friend, but something that walks beside me and forces me to see parts of myself I never knew were there.
The Nature of Cancer’s Path
For me, the path has felt:
- Uncertain
- Messy
- Full of hard lessons about who I really am
What My Oncologist Didn’t Prepare Me For
When I first sat with my oncologist, she walked me through the plan. There were big medical words, charts, schedules, and percentages.
Big Medical Words and Timelines
She explained the drugs, the side effects, and the timing. There was a sense of structure, a plan of attack that helped calm some of my early fear.
The Mental Marathon Reality
What I was not ready for was the mental marathon.
Living in treatment for years does something to your mind. It stretches your hope, your patience, your sense of time.
Days Like Climbing Mount Everest
Some days, getting out of bed feels like climbing Mount Everest.
You know it is just a few steps to the kitchen, but your body and mind tell you it is too much.
Those are the days that test a different kind of strength.
Discovering Hidden Strength in Tough Moments
Over time, I started to notice something. There were moments when I thought, “I can’t do this anymore,” and yet, somehow, I did.
Pushing Through “I Can’t” Feelings
Every single time I push through those “I’m done” moments, I find a small pocket of strength I did not know I had.
Not a big, dramatic burst. Just enough for the next hour, or the next step.
Quiet, Stubborn Determination
That strength often sounds like a soft voice inside that whispers, “Okay, maybe I can do one more day”.
It is quiet and stubborn. It does not shout. It simply refuses to quit.
Not Superhero Strength, But Real
This is not superhero strength. I still cry, still complain, still feel afraid.
But it is real power. It is the kind that shows up in sweatpants, with bedhead, sitting in a chemo chair.
One More Day Mindset
For me, staying the course has become a “one more day” mindset. I do not have to know exactly how the story ends. I only have to choose to keep going today.
If you want to read how others describe this kind of courage, stories like this personal account of breast cancer treatment at MD Anderson may feel familiar.
A Life-Changing Meeting in the Waiting Room
Last week, I met a woman in the waiting room who changed my thinking.
Meeting a Three-Year Treatment Warrior
She had been in treatment for three years. We started talking, the way patients often do, about schedules and scans and side effects.
There was a light in her eyes that caught me off guard.
From Counting Days to Counting Victories
At one point, she looked at me and said:
“Honey, I used to count days. Now, I count victories.”
Those words landed in my chest like a seed.
How She Shifted My View
She was not talking about huge wins, like being declared cancer-free. She was talking about moments that mattered to her.
Hearing her, I realized that staying the course is not just surviving treatments. It is collecting the reasons you are glad you stayed.
Her Inspiring Family Victories
She pulled out her phone and showed me photos.
Photos That Tell the Story
Her “victories” looked like this:
- Her granddaughter’s first steps
- Her son’s wedding
- Christmas morning with her family
Moments Because She Stayed the Course
Each picture was a moment that would not have existed for her if she had quit treatment. They were little time-stamps that said, “I was here. I stayed.”
Family Joy Amid Treatment
She did all this while still hooked into treatment schedules and side effects. Joy did not wait until life was perfect. It showed up right in the middle of the mess.
If you like reading about others who have held on through long treatment, collections of real stories, like those on
