In December of 1989, at the age of 40, I sold everything I had (which was not much) and moved to Baltimore to enter culinary school. Two weeks into the program, I found a lump. Everyone told me I was too young for cancer and not to worry. But I did anyway.

    I had no insurance. I went to John Hopkins University Medical Centre and they told me to sign up for insurance and come back when I had some. Until then, they said, don’t worry. But I did anyway.

    The librarian at the culinary school donated a mammogram to me that she had earned by selling items to raise money for a breast cancer organization. I went to Maryland General Hospital for the mammogram, and then they called me in for a needle biopsy. The surgeon, Dr. Malcolm Wilkinson, told me not to worry. But I did anyway.

    A week later, I got the news. It was breast cancer and I needed surgery as soon as possible. I wanted to finish my first semester and I did—and I made the dean’s list. But I was alone, 1,500 miles from my nearest relative and not too happy. I was living in a dorm-like place where most of the other residents were 19 to 25 year olds who partied all the time. One guy even climbed up the fire escape to look through my window, and the next day in the food line announced that they were serving fried boobs.

    During my treatment I found some of the nicest, dearest people I have ever met. A lady who would talk to me not matter what hour of the night or day I called. People who put me up in their home while I underwent radiation therapy so that I could get away from the dorm. My new friends told me not to worry. But I did anyway.

    I found an apartment in a project-like environment and continued chemo and radiation. My home health nurse was so kind and understanding. One day I threw out the Cytoxin and never looked back. Here it is going on 20 years, and now the kindness extended to me during the black hours of my life has reignited me and I no longer worry.

    I graduated in 1991 and, although I can’t work in the culinary field anymore, I am proud that I toughed it out and that my nurses and new friends helped me through it. The librarian saved my life. My late-night friend, who has passed on to a better world, helped me cope with the treatment. The nurse helped me to look forward. Their kindness still dwells in me and keeps me warm at night.