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Exposure 2011
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When I was 32, I moved to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. My first night in town, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and proposed to Jennifer, the girl of my dreams. Jennifer and I were married in Central Park in 2007, surrounded by our family and friends. That night we danced our first song together as husband and wife, “I’m in the Mood for Love,” serenaded by my father on his accordion.
5 months later, Jennifer was diagnosed with Stage 3B breast cancer. I’ll never forget hearing the word “cancer” come out of Jen’s mouth; I’ve been numb ever since.
In a state of disbelief, Jennifer and I entered the world of cancer. A double mastectomy, four months of chemotherapy, five weeks of daily radiation, reconstructive surgery and finally we were told that Jennifer was free of cancer. It was just after our first anniversary.
As hard as we tried to leave cancer behind, it still ruled our life. Jen struggled to regain her identity in a body that had turned against her; we were constantly aware of every bump, bruise or twitch. In April of 2010, our biggest fear turned to reality when our oncologist found new spots on Jen’s hip, liver and sacrum.
Jen now lives with the diagnosis of chronic cancer - until there is a cure, Jennifer will always have to receive some type of treatment.
This past September an MRI showed that the cancer has moved to Jen’s brain.
During our battle, we have been blessed with an incredible support group. Nonetheless, most people are not aware of the challenges that we face every day. We often hear: “Jen looks healthy, glad that things are back to normal.” Little do they know that she is in chronic pain from the side effects of 3-plus-years of treatment and medications. Or that we face fear, anxiety and worry daily. Jen uses a walker and cane and is exhausted from several hospital stays of 2-3 weeks at a time, constant doctor visits, whole-brain radiation and regular chemotherapy treatments.
Sadly, many people do not want to hear these realities; around the time of Jen’s re-diagnosis we felt that our support group was fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become OK, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no normal in cancer-land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we have to live with everyday?
We tried talking and when words came up short I turned to the only other way that I know to communicate - my camera.
My photographs show this daily life. They show the fear, concern and sadness we face. They show the joy from the endearment of a friend. They show the deep love and trust between Jennifer and me. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife.
