The Side Effects No One Talks About

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I dove into research. I read everything I could find, joined forums, watched videos, and asked endless questions. I wanted to be ready not just for the treatments, but for the entire journey ahead. I thought I knew what to expect.

But nothing prepared me for the side effects.

It Wasn’t the Diagnosis That Broke Me It Was the Day-to-Day

When people hear “cancer,” they often think about chemo, hair loss, or surgery. But for me  going through radiation for head and neck cancer the hardest part wasn’t the diagnosis itself. It was what the treatment did to my body.

Radiation meant daily sessions, five days a week, for seven weeks. Around week three, things began to change. Eating became nearly impossible. My mouth felt raw, blistered, like it was on fire. My throat burned like I’d swallowed hot coals. Even drinking water something so simple  turned into a painful, exhausting challenge.

Eventually, I needed a feeding tube. At first, I resisted. I thought it meant I had failed, that I wasn’t strong enough. But over time, I realized that accepting help wasn’t weakness  it was survival. I wish someone had told me earlier that leaning on support doesn’t mean losing the fight. It means fighting smarter.

The Silent Struggles No One Warns You About

There were so many side effects no one really talks about until you live through them.

I lost weight rapidly not the healthy kind, but the kind that made my clothes hang loose and my body feel fragile.

Fatigue wasn’t just being tired. It was like gravity had doubled. There were days I sat down and couldn’t find the strength to stand back up. I wasn’t just exhausted  I was completely depleted.

Pain became a constant background noise. I didn’t complain much I just adapted quietly. But that quiet adaptation took a heavy toll.

My emotions were unpredictable. Some days I was okay. Other days, I broke down over something as simple as a bowl of oatmeal I couldn’t eat.

These weren’t just “side effects.” They were the real experience of treatment. The main story that rarely gets told.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m not telling you this to scare you. I’m sharing it because someone should. When I faced these challenges, I wondered if I was doing something wrong  if I was weak or too sensitive. But I wasn’t. And neither are you.

If you’re newly diagnosed, or walking alongside someone who is, I want you to know what’s coming  not to frighten you, but so you can recognize it when it shows up. So you won’t feel broken or ashamed when it gets hard.

Because it will get hard. But you’re still whole.

You’re still you.

What Helped Me

I found small ways to stay grounded. I kept a notebook, writing down how I felt every day  physically and emotionally. It helped me see patterns and reminded me that even the darkest days pass.

I let my wife, my daughter, and friends help me. I didn’t always want to accept it, but I did and I’m grateful I did.

I looked for moments of peace  a quiet prayer in the morning, soft music playing, a short walk when I had the strength.

Most importantly, I told the truth  even when it was uncomfortable or made me feel vulnerable.

Strength didn’t always mean pushing through. Sometimes it meant saying, “I need a minute.” Sometimes it meant tears, or a nap, or a feeding tube.

This post is for anyone in the middle of the fight anyone staring at the calendar, counting down the weeks. Anyone struggling to swallow when it hurts too much. Anyone wondering if life will ever feel normal again.

It does get better.

But along the way, it’s okay to name what’s hard.

In the next post, I’ll share more about the emotional toll  the anger, the confusion, the identity shifts, and the strange clarity that came when I stopped hiding how scared I was.

Until then, be gentle with yourself.

You’re doing better than you think.

— Ken