Mountain Beauties
(Or the point of Cancer Sharks)
“You’re a good leader,” Stacy said as we climbed the mountain.
There were five of us on the trail, all Living Beauties, women living with serious cancer diagnoses. Some, like me, are living with cancers that are considered terminal.
We were in Murrieta, California, hiking a two-mile loop that wasted no time introducing itself. The path climbed almost immediately, the dirt scattered with red rock and loose pebbles that made every step a little less certain than the one before it.
For reasons I can’t explain, I took the lead.
One by one, the others fell in behind me. We climbed in conversation, in silence, and eventually in sweat. By the time we reached the top, our faces had that glazed-donut look.
That’s when Stacy smiled and said, “You’re a good leader.”
I laughed and told her I’d heard that before. I still don’t know whether it comes from a career spent leading teams or from growing up as the oldest of four girls. Maybe both.
But somewhere between California and Boston, her comment stopped feeling like a compliment and started feeling like a question.
What kind of leader do I actually want to be?
I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately as Cancer Sharks continues to grow.
For months I’ve described Cancer Sharks as a storytelling platform. An advocacy organization. A community.
Those things are true.
They’re just no longer complete.
What I keep coming back to is the way I experience my own cancer care.
People often imagine medicine as a hierarchy. Doctors and researchers on one side. Patients on the other.
That hasn’t been my experience.
My oncologist isn’t my superior.
He’s my teammate.
The nurses who know my name, the researchers searching for better treatments, the psychologist helping patients navigate impossible days, the women I met on that mountain, the friends I’ve made through cancer, and me. We each bring something different to the table.
The scientists bring scientific expertise.
The clinicians bring medical expertise.
The rest of us bring lived expertise.
None of those forms of knowledge is complete on its own.
The future of cancer care deserves all of them.
Maybe that’s what Cancer Sharks has been trying to become all along. Not a place that speaks for people living with cancer. A place that works with them.
A place that helps build the table where science, medicine, and lived experience come together as partners to improve the future of cancer care.
Because I don’t want a seat at the table.
I want to help build a table where there’s room for everyone who belongs here.
