Not much prepares you for a cancer diagnosis. At age thirty-two, I was in a great place in life. I had just celebrated my fourth wedding anniversary to my high school sweetheart and recently started a new job in the public sector after weathering the brutality of life as a law firm associate. A planner by nature, I was in the process of organizing trips for a dear friend’s bachelorette weekend in New York, a ten-year college reunion in Atlanta, and a family vacation in Mexico.

The last thing I expected was to be diagnosed with breast cancer. Not only was I young and presumably healthy (I ate well and exercised regularly), but there was not a history of breast cancer in my family. In fact, my mom's mom's mom would be celebrating her one-hundredth birthday the day after I received that fateful call. But, as I soon learned, most women who get breast cancer have no family history.

The news hit me like a ton of bricks. I had faced and overcome challenges in the past, but nothing I had previously experienced had instantaneously changed so much of what I understood about myself. Up until that point, I could look back on how my life had turned out and see where skill or hard work or even luck had contributed to my success. When something had not turned out as I had hoped, I could see my culpability in some fashion. But this diagnosis was different. For the first time in my life, there didn’t seem to be any explanation for this bad thing happening to me other than I was unlucky. This apparent lack of a cause and effect gave me an unsettling feeling. “Surreal in a bad way” is how I often described it.

Thankfully, after being initially caught flat footed, I was able to regain my balance relatively quickly. I learned as much as I could about the disease, because while it's easy to fear the unknown, knowledge is power. When I discovered that my early-stage cancer was highly treatable, anxiety gave way to action, devastation to duty. I used all of the education I had gained to make informed decisions and I chose aggressive treatment: surgery, chemo, hormone therapy. I wanted no regrets.

And for a short time, it appeared that my efforts were successful. I regained my strength, returned to the office, resumed traveling, and relegated cancer to my rearview mirror. It took a little time to adjust; I found myself still experiencing fatigue months after finishing treatment and I didn’t know what to do with the super curly hair that was growing back in. I didn’t mind any of these new realities, though, because they sure beat the needles and nausea of cancer treatment. Oddly, there were times when it felt like a void had been left in my daily existence where cancer had previously resided. It didn’t take too long to get over that, though!

My return to normal, however, was wrecked by a recurrence less than two years after my initial diagnosis, and I was rattled. I found another lump in the same breast and was again incredulous, except this time I had a sinking feeling I couldn’t shake. It turned out my cancer was back and beginning to spread. The first time felt like a brief prison bid for which I had been paroled for good behavior. Now, it felt like I was on death row.

I trusted my doctors, my body less so. I opted for an even more aggressive treatment protocol the second time around: surgery, chemo, radiation, more chemo, harsher hormone therapy. I was beyond wanting no regrets—I wanted a commutation of my sentence.

For nearly three years, it appears I have gotten my wish. Despite numerous close and nerve-wracking calls, there is no evidence of disease in my body.

I make the most of my days, living to the fullest without being reckless, enjoying the small things while not sweating them. Life has resumed. Yet, I live with the weight of being a two-time breast cancer survivor every day, aware that in the blink of an eye the life I know could once again be disrupted.

So, while not much may prepare you for a cancer diagnosis, surviving cancer oddly prepares you for a pandemic. COVID-19 has caused widespread fear and upended life as we knew it. For many of us survivors, this was how cancer first introduced itself to us.

If I think back to treatment, I am reminded of my susceptibility to infection and all the precautions I had to take. I was continually cleaning my hands and mindful of germs. I avoided large gatherings and public places. It was isolating and lonely at times, but it was necessary (and it formed good habits that have continued to serve me well to this day!).

As I endured the physical and emotional toll of treatment, I pined for a return to normalcy without needles and nausea, for my office and not my doctors’. As the side effects of compounded, I wanted nothing more than to be done, for this unwelcome and unpleasant detour to be over so I could return to the main roads of my life. But I had to stay the course.

It is not surprising how much cancer has taught me, but it is surprising how much of it has come in handy during the time of COVID-19. Cancer has taught me to not take for granted my time or those I love. It has taught me the importance of being vigilant and keeping myself safe, even when it requires sacrifice.

Above all, as more time has passed and I get farther away from my initial diagnosis and subsequent recurrence, I have learned to be comfortable with uncertainty. With each scan, I know my life can once again be turned upside down. But I don't dwell on that. I focus on what I can control, and I've accepted that I cannot predict or prescribe the future. Perhaps, of all of the lessons I have learned as a two-time breast cancer survivor, this is the most salient for these uncertain times.

As with cancer, none of us knows what COVID-19 has in store for us next week, let alone next year. Will it make me or someone I love sick, or worse? Can it be cured? Will it disappear? Will it reappear? When can we get back to normal? What will normal look like when we do? It is unnerving to not know. Not knowing fills us all with angst.

Yet, the strength we exhibit not just as cancer patients, but now as survivors, makes us uniquely equipped to support those around us who have less experience recalibrating "normal" to factor in the unknown. Many survivors have long turned a negative into a positive by serving as a resource for cancer patients who have come after us, educating and encouraging them by drawing from our own experiences. For me, that has been a lasting and rewarding silver lining to having had cancer twice.

Now, we can do the same for family and friends who are adapting to a new world order that may not feel so unfamiliar to us. We can help put words to new feelings and fears they do not fully understand and cannot fully articulate because, in a way, we’ve already lived them. Just be sure you are doing so while practicing social distancing!

Monique Robinson is a two-time breast cancer survivor and a member of CSAC. She is an attorney and lives with her husband and two dogs in Northeast Los Angeles.

USC Norris Cancer Survivorship Advisory Council Blog provides a broad range of opinions which do not necessarily represent the opinion of the USC Norris Comprehensive Cancer Center. This and all information related to cancer, cancer treatment and healthcare should be discussed with your physician.