I was a junior and had just declared my major in political science. At 20, I felt invincible. I was the president of my fraternity. I was working at a San Francisco law firm. I was smitten with my girlfriend, and most importantly, I had a supportive family and a close circle of friends.
Then a small bump formed under my right nostril.
John, a close buddy in the fraternity, was the first to ask me about it. Ten days later, when I picked up my Cal Student ID card and saw my photo, I was shocked. How had I not noticed it brushing my teeth every morning?
At first, the doctors didn’t think anything was wrong. It took eight weeks before I was diagnosed with a rare fibrosarcoma in my right maxilla—and it was spreading in all directions. My doctor in Oakland then referred me to an otolaryngologist at UCSF who scheduled surgery. After an initial procedure in December 1984, I had a recurrence in the Fall of 1985, which would change my whole world. My doctor moved with a sense of urgency and gave me the tough news. I would likely be facially disfigured, he said, and I might lose my right eye.
I had to take the fall semester of 1985 off from Cal, which made me feel like a failure. I was on track to graduate in four years, as my three older brothers had. Now I would be hard-pressed to do that.
Then it sank in: I have cancer. Why did any of this matter?
After surgery, I couldn’t look at the bathroom mirror, so I took a deep breath and waited until my doctor arrived to tell me how it went. I had significant facial disfigurement, he told me. They saved my eye, and though half my nose was gone, he was confident they could cure me.
But being released into the world became its own challenge. Inside my hospital room, I was shielded. Now, everyone could see me—and they stared.
Radiation therapy followed: Six weeks of daily treatments, then 48 hours of iridium seed implants in a hospital room cordoned off with yellow warning tape. I was radioactive.
During that time, I needed to stay busy, so I re-enrolled at Cal. But no one could visit me during that 48-hour stay, so I buried myself in homework. What I remember most from those days is escaping into Ernest Hemingway’s short stories. I ended up reading BigTwo‑Hearted River — Part II twice, where Nick, the main character, loses himself in the rituals of preparing to go trout fishing and organizing his campsite—a way to keep his mind off his trauma from World War I. The story’s themes of recovering from invisible scars paralleled my own plight in so many ways.
Once the radiation was behind me, I could begin planning reconstruction on my face. The results were disappointing and following six reconstructive procedures to make my nose symmetrical again, it was clear that the right side of my nose would never look the same. I was fast approaching thirty total surgical procedures by now. My right eye began to droop. Time did not seem to be my friend. My self-esteem sank to its lowest point.
But I had a strong foundation of faith. I regularly attended mass at the Newman Center on College Avenue and got to know the pastor so well that he asked me to carry the cross during the Stations of the Cross ritual on Good Friday. My faith gave me courage. My true Cal friends never left my side. I married Sue, a wonderful woman who didn’t even ask me what happened to my face. The topic didn’t come up until the second date. She accepted me for who I was, and to this day, has never asked me to change.
I began to set personal goals like bench pressing 300 pounds, running a 10K in under 38 minutes. Professionally, I created my own timelines, and each time I achieved one goal, I began to believe in myself more and learned that there is always something to be grateful for. Eventually I built a high-tech career and became a professional speaker. It all helped me rebuild my confidence. Today, I don’t even notice the stares.
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Terry is a speaker and author, most recently, of The Resilience Mindset: How Adversity Can Strengthen Individuals, Teams, and Leaders, as well as At Face Value, which details much of his journey while at UC Berkeley. For more information visit http://www.terryhealey.com.
