Shakay J. Kizirian , MSW, LCSW

OK, that is a fair question. A question that I am asked on a regular basis. And quite frankly, on days when I am emotionally and physically drained, when my tank is running below empty, I admit that I ask myself that same question. Why do I do what I do?

The answer is simple. I was born to do the work that I do. It is a true calling, vocation and passion that I do not take lightly, and each encounter that I am privileged to have is held in a sacred space.

Primarily, I think people question me for two reasons. One, as an oncology social worker, the day-to-day exposure of patients’ and families’ raw emotions and shared intimate details of their life stories can be overwhelming.

And two, similar to my patients, I have heard the words, “It doesn’t look good, you better get yourself a surgeon,” “biopsy,” “malignancy,” “scans,” “suspicious,” “complications,” and “surgery.”

Like millions of others, I have sat across the desk to hear the words, “You have cancer” more than once. I can tell you without hesitation, it was a totally humbling experience to be the patient hearing the news of a cancer diagnosis after I had been on the other side of the desk as a health care worker when the news was delivered to the often-unsuspecting patient.

The news is no longer a compilation of random words. Oh no, the words form a diagnosis strike fear to the core of each person’s inner being, and no matter what stage the cancer will be deemed to be, it will forever change that person’s outlook on life and choices.

I remember vividly that my first undergraduate internship was at a VA medical center working on a medical/surgical floor. I was drawn to the oncology patients who at that time were down the hall behind closed doors. The word “cancer” was not spoken — it was whispered, or the term “the C-word” was used.

The patients often were alone, scared and feeling abandoned. I spent as much time as I could with each one, providing a safe place to hear their life stories and their thoughts, feelings and concerns about their diagnosis and what the future — if any — held for them.

I was able to connect with the patients in a meaningful way, and my then-supervisor insisted that I must have had “much experience in this area.” I had not at that time. My ability to provide comfort and hope was a gift, and I knew that this was the population I wanted to work with.

After receiving my master’s degree in social work and working at the Breast Health Center at Johns Hopkins Medicine in Baltimore, I was even more inspired to dedicate my life to helping oncology patients and their families.

Over my decade’s long vocation, I have been blessed to work in a variety of settings and if I was not working directly with an oncology patient, I was volunteering my time.

I have been blessed so many times over the years meeting many incredible men and women who have taught me much and have enriched my life in countless ways. I have learned that cancer is something that happens to a person but does not need to define them. We are all so much more than our diagnoses.

As one patient shared with me, “I am so much bigger than my cancer,” even though she was in a terminal state, she refused to let the disease take over her life focus.

I may share some common themes with my patients; however, the beauty lies in the richness of everyone’s journey and what they learn about themselves, and the insight and growth that they can share to help and support each other.

We may hear the same words and even have the same treatments, however what makes it uniquely our own is how we cope and manage to integrate this experience in our lives.

My work is about life and living it to the fullest. It might sound surprising that it is not all doom and gloom. On the contrary — it is often life-affirming, awe-inspiring and motivating. The focus becomes reflective, an opportunity for personal growth and getting in touch with parts of yourself that you would otherwise not know existed. It is about quality versus quantity and self-love and care.

My work is about being the beacon of light and hope as I assist those who have heard the words “you have cancer” as they navigate the uncharted waters of their personal journey.

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An oncology social worker, who is also a cancer survivor, describes life lessons learned through work and personal experiences.

How an Oncology Social Worker Answers the Question, ‘Why Do You Do What You Do?’

“My left breast comes off and at the end of the day I put it in a pretty blue box that I keep on the top shelf of my closet”.

So, how is that for an opening line when you start to date someone?

When I was diagnosed with my first cancer in 1985, at the tender age of 28, my course of treatment was a modified radical mastectomy. The individual I was dating at that time was my ex-husband six years later.

Aside from the normal impact of a divorce such as loss of family, mutual friends, financial and housing considerations, was the deep fear and self-doubt of dating and establishing an intimate relationship again. I remember the tears and sharing with those closest to me “who is ever going to love me with one breast”?

As we know in our society, breasts are revered almost like a god and sex sells and nothing sells products more than ample cleavage. We define our sexual appeal by our physical attributes and this is not limited to females as we are all familiar with the line “size does not matter”. Well, let’s be honest, size does matter, however not for the right reasons. It is all about superficial judgment. We are judged not just by our body parts, but our physical appearance in general. I grew up with a “more than” body and was treated “less than” because of it. We are all guilty of making assumptions about someone’s character based on their physical appearance. How many times have we been wrong? How many times have we missed out on knowing someone because of our projected biases?

Since I rarely met society’s standards of a beautiful body, I now felt unexpected freedom in my thinking. I did not meet the standards of beauty with two breasts due to my size, now I would never meet those standards due to my “disfigured and mutilated body” (the words used to describe a woman after a mastectomy in a pamphlet that was given to me at the time of my surgery!) I now had the opportunity to define my own standard of physical beauty which actually has nothing to do with my body.

I no longer relied on other’s comments or media displays. What a waste to compare one’s self to next to impossible images or to hold true others opinions of oneself before your own. Trust me; this was not an overnight phenomenon. On some level, I was processing my experience, my life events and the stories I hear daily as an oncology social worker. What is truly important? Yes, we all want the healthiest bodies to carry us through our life journey, however, to focus on physical attributes versus the emotional endurance and spiritual life of a person is a waste.

The most unexpected event that leads me to realize that over time I had come to love me for me, and not judge myself for what others thought were deficits was when I chose to be a model for artists. I initially began as a portrait model because “you have such a beautiful face” and the artists stated they enjoyed my facial expressions and the emotions I was able to convey in those expressions.

I felt very comfortable under the scrutiny of the artists and decided to expand my role and chose to be a figure model. Interestingly, this group of women was aghast at the thought of drawing me “she had breast surgery”! (Horror!). I am not a person who is easily sidelined and I pursued until I found a group, actually several groups who wanted to draw me. Do you know what they said? They enjoyed drawing me because my body “has a story to tell” or as one artist stated, “I could just draw you for hours, you are deep”. People were amazed at my confidence; however, for me, confidence came from doing. I felt beautiful and confident in my first sitting.

So I no longer feel an obligation to let someone know up front that I have had cancer. I do not make that life experience any more significant than any other life experience. I am a culmination of all my life experiences—that is what makes me beautiful.

A cancer survivor discusses how she decides to discuss her mastectomy and the acceptance of her body after treatment for cancer. 

Shakay J. Kizirian , MSW, LCSW

How an Oncology Social Worker Answers the Question, ‘Why Do You Do What You Do?’

To Tell or Not to Tell About My Mastectomy

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