"I'll never forget that moment. It was 2001 and I was only 28 years old. I had just gotten married and I couldn't wait to start a life of our own. But life, it seems, had its own plans.

I felt a lump in my breast one day, but I thought, “I’m too young for cancer.” Even the doctors told me not to worry. But when my mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and passed away just a few months later, something inside me prompted me to check that lump again. The result? Breast cancer—at a stage that could not be ignored.

I had both breasts removed, I went through chemotherapy, and with it, I lost a lot more than just my hair. I went through menopause. Not once, but three times – from chemotherapy, from a hormonal treatment, and finally I had my ovaries removed to prevent the risk.

But no one told me what would happen to my body as a woman.

Everyone was talking about survival, about fighting the disease. But no one was talking about sex. Not about pleasure. Not about my body, which now seemed foreign to me. When I lay with my husband, I felt empty. I felt nothing. I even started having sex just to maintain the relationship, not because it came naturally to me. And I didn't understand what was happening to my body – why didn't I feel pleasure anymore, why wasn't my clitoris "awakening" anymore?

I didn't know it was a condition called clitoral atrophy – a physical and sensory "shrinkage" of the most sensitive part of a woman's body. No one had mentioned it to me. No doctor. No advice. No conversation about it.

Years later, when I started going to trainings on menopause and women's sexual health, I realized I wasn't alone. I began to understand that our bodies need help – for treatments, for missing hormones, for restoring the sensitivity we lose without realizing it.

I started a treatment with local estrogen and a little testosterone. And slowly, very slowly, the sensations started to return. I started to feel like a woman again. Like a human being. Not just like a cancer survivor.

Today, I have no more signs of the disease. I'm better than ever. But I wish someone had told me earlier. That someone had told me that it was not shameful to talk about sex after cancer. That pleasure is not a luxury, but an important part of life and health.

"If you're going through the same thing, please don't keep quiet. Get help. Ask a doctor. Say you don't feel well. You deserve to be well – not just alive, but whole. And desired. And content," from a sincere follower of Anabel.

Note: The article has been adapted by the editorial team for editorial purposes and clarity. Copyright Anabel.al / Reprinting without the permission of the editorial team is prohibited.

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