Sarah Stream is a twenty-two year old who is celebrating being six years free of brain cancer this year! Happily and recently married, she has also graduated this year and is successfully working as a teacher in a middle school. Diagnosed at age 15, Sarah had the experience that a lot of young people go through – feeling too old for the children’s ward she was being treated on, feeling alone and isolated through treatment and then battling with other demons through survivorship. She is a Teen Cancer America Ambassador and Advocate.

I was six weeks into my sophomore year of high school and I already had trouble fitting in. Then this diagnosis came along that cemented my isolation from the rest of my age group. I did not know anyone else my age with cancer, and I assumed that was either because nobody else my age got cancer, or if they did, they did not survive it. I attempted to seek out fellow teens and young adults with cancer in my community with minimal success.

I wish I could tell you that this perception was somehow changed during my cancer journey, but the truth is, it really wasn’t. I met a few fellow teen cancer warriors here and there, but I was treated in a children’s hospital where I was surrounded mostly by ill children under the age of seven.

“I love kids, but when you’re a sixteen-year-old with brain cancer and have teenage identity issues,

sleeping next door to a screaming toddler who also has cancer, doesn’t do too much for your confidence.”

I often remark to people that there is no guidebook when you have cancer. That is true all the way from diagnosis through treatment to survivorship. There is no “For Dummies” guide on what to expect, how you should feel (either physically or mentally), and how to cope with it. In many respects, you are on your own. But while there may not be a guidebook, there are people. People like the many that have written their story for this page, who have walked the path I’m on, or are still currently on the path, who can help you navigate along the way. The key is finding them.

At Teen Cancer America, we look at experiences like my own and say “no more”. No teen with cancer in a hospital should have to look farther than their next-door neighbor to share this uniquely challenging experience with. No more isolation, no more treatment in places that are designed for young children or geriatric patients. We need a place of our own with doctors and counsellors who are specialized in treating our age group. It is something that is already done for children, adults, and the elderly, while teens and young adults are left in the dust. At Teen Cancer America, we seek to build that safe haven for teens, and we have been doing so for the last several years with tremendous results.

I have noticed a funny trend in my years advocating for adolescent medicine. I have been speaking on behalf of Teen Cancer America for over five years to just about anyone who will listen, and after I lay out all of these issues for them, their response invariably includes the phrase “That’s a great idea”, but the phrase that always follows that is perhaps the most important one: “I had never thought of that before”.

My natural response to that phrase would be “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it”. But the truth is that that is not enough. It is not time to start thinking about the way we treat teens and young adults with cancer, it is time to start DOING something about the way we treat young adults with cancer.

This has been an amazing journey for me and while I still advocate for appropriate spaces for teens and young adults in hospitals to be treated together, I feel it’s also time for an immensely personal update. Not to draw attention, but to share a happy ending to a long and tumultuous road.

Those who know me well know that my brain cancer diagnosis at age 15 also came with a bigger diagnosis attached to it – generalized anxiety disorder and depression. It also (probably too hastily, in hindsight) came with a prescription for antidepressants. I was medicated from age 15 to 20, at which time I felt life had improved and I wanted to try coming off of the meds. In my junior year of college I tried weaning off of the medication far too quickly, caused a major imbalance in my brain, and led myself into what is now infamously known around my household as “the dark time”. This involved suicidal ideation, an episode of OCD, and three different medical professionals strongly advising me to withdraw from school for the sake of my health.

At that point I knew I had a decision to make. I could stay off the meds, drive myself crazy, and drop out of school, or I could commit myself to recovery- finding a different medication, going to intensive therapy (CBT specifically), and toughing it out through that semester. I chose the latter. Being only 21 years old, I knew that I did not want to commit to being on medication for the rest of my life, so I had to make some serious changes in my life and work on my coping skills. I found the right therapist and started working very hard on myself in February 2015. I have now been in what is medically considered complete remission from anxiety and depression since June 2015. In February of this year, with professional guidance, I started slowly tapering off my medication. Tonight I saw this. Only seven days left. These pills are half of the lowest dose of this medication that the company makes. At my peak, I was taking six times this dose.

Despite a new job, being a newlywed, and having a lot of new responsibilities, I actually feel fine. I feel free. Irrational levels of anxiety no longer plague my every thought. I can cope. My thought processes operate in a completely different way than they used to, thanks to therapy. I shed a tear of joy tonight because this nearly empty bottle is a reflection of every positive change I have made and every person to support me in the last two years. I never thought this would be possible. I must thank my family and friends, and I must tell you that recovery is so possible. If I can do it, anyone can.

#tyacancer #mentalillness #breakthestigma