Fay­ola Fras­er

For Mar­sha Joseph, a 52-year-old teacher at Tacarigua Pres­by­ter­ian Pri­ma­ry School, can­cer was nev­er out of her or­bit, as she had fam­i­ly and friends af­fect­ed by the ill­ness and close­ly fol­lowed the work of the Trinidad and To­ba­go Can­cer So­ci­ety. How­ev­er, in 2024, it loomed large in her life. As she was on the brink of a new sea­son, in the year that she was turn­ing 50, she and her hus­band were cel­e­brat­ing their 25th wed­ding an­niver­sary, and her chil­dren were grow­ing in­to young adults, she nev­er imag­ined that she would al­so be nav­i­gat­ing a breast can­cer jour­ney.

Joseph’s di­ag­no­sis did not come with any dra­mat­ic warn­ing signs. There was no clas­sic on­set of sig­nif­i­cant symp­toms, no pain - just a small bump un­der the skin, some­thing that could have eas­i­ly been con­fused with a skin tag and sim­ply ig­nored. How­ev­er, Joseph, al­ways con­scious about her health, did not take it for grant­ed. Ac­cord­ing to her, “I felt some­thing and didn’t think it was any­thing,” she says, “but I was due for a mam­mo­gram and de­cid­ed to get it checked.” That de­ci­sion, made al­most ca­su­al­ly, changed every­thing. She was di­ag­nosed just shy of 50, at a stage where ear­ly de­tec­tion made all the dif­fer­ence.

“The on­ly time in my life I was tru­ly speech­less was when I heard the word can­cer,” Joseph re­mem­bers. She had al­ready en­dured var­i­ous health chal­lenges and even had surg­eries re­lat­ed to re­pro­duc­tive health, but can­cer was dif­fer­ent, a di­ag­no­sis that no one ever wants to hear. What fol­lowed, how­ev­er, was ur­gent and al­most im­me­di­ate ac­tion. With guid­ance and sup­port from the Trinidad and To­ba­go Can­cer So­ci­ety and her doc­tors, she pro­ceed­ed quick­ly through the rec­om­mend­ed next steps - biop­sies, con­sul­ta­tions, and de­ci­sion-mak­ing, work­ing in align­ment with her doc­tors and choos­ing the path that felt right for her.

Pre­sent­ed with the op­tion of a lumpec­to­my or a dou­ble mas­tec­to­my, Joseph opt­ed for the lat­ter with­out hes­i­ta­tion, as it was the best op­tion to stop the can­cer in its tracks. Al­though it can be a dif­fi­cult path to pur­sue for many, as it re­quires the re­moval of both breasts, for Joseph, she was in­sis­tent that what had to be done, had to be done. “My breasts nev­er de­fined me as a woman,” she ex­plains, “they served me well, through­out feed­ing and rais­ing my chil­dren, and they were a cher­ished part of my body, but I knew I had to say good­bye to them to say hel­lo to a new chap­ter, and I wasn’t go­ing to be a sta­tis­tic.” With­in weeks of her di­ag­no­sis, she was on the op­er­at­ing ta­ble, em­pow­ered by frank dis­cus­sions with her med­ical team, with clar­i­ty about what she need­ed for her own peace of mind.

Through­out this jour­ney, the Trinidad and To­ba­go Can­cer So­ci­ety was a con­stant pres­ence. From af­ford­able screen­ing ser­vices to pa­tient nav­i­ga­tion and ed­u­ca­tion, TTCS filled the gap be­tween fear and un­der­stand­ing. When Joseph was di­ag­nosed, and the TTCS learned of her sit­u­a­tion, they reached out im­me­di­ate­ly, en­cour­ag­ing her to join the Sur­vivors Net­work. She was paired with an­oth­er sur­vivor, some­one who un­der­stood her path and helped her nav­i­gate in ways even loved ones some­times can­not. Al­though her jour­ney was made more bear­able by the TTCS’s out­reach, it still re­quired her to draw on the strength and for­ti­tude that lay with­in. “You nev­er re­alise how strong you are un­til it’s your on­ly op­tion,” she says.

That peer sup­port be­came a life­line. “I could have con­ver­sa­tions there that I couldn’t even have with my hus­band at that point,” Joseph ad­mits. The TTCS, she says, treats not on­ly the dis­ease but the whole per­son, en­cour­ag­ing self-care, open­ness, and emo­tion­al heal­ing along­side med­ical re­cov­ery.

Through­out her jour­ney, she has be­come even more keen­ly aware that her op­tions and sur­vival were built on the courage of oth­ers. She lost a close friend and an aunt to breast can­cer, and of­ten re­flects that “we stand on the shoul­ders of gi­ants,” be­cause peo­ple who have walked the path be­fore have opened our eyes to the re­al­i­ties of bat­tling with a dis­ease like can­cer. At her first can­cer sur­vivor meet­ing, she was hum­bled to meet peo­ple who were 20 years and more in­to sur­vivor­ship, liv­ing proof that there is life af­ter di­ag­no­sis.

In Ju­ly 2026, she will be en­ter­ing her sec­ond year with no ev­i­dence of dis­ease (NED), a mile­stone many sur­vivors qui­et­ly mark as a “can­cer-ver­sary.” To­day, grat­i­tude de­fines her out­look. She speaks open­ly about her ex­pe­ri­ence, of­fer­ing ad­vice to oth­ers, and par­tic­i­pat­ing in in­ter­views and aware­ness cam­paigns, be­cause this sort of ad­vo­ca­cy and ed­u­ca­tion saved her life. Ear­ly screen­ing, af­ford­able and ac­ces­si­ble through TTCS, meant her prog­no­sis was vast­ly dif­fer­ent from what it could have been. She al­so en­cour­ages those who have been di­ag­nosed to “not make can­cer their whole life,” and to try to see and en­vi­sion life be­yond di­ag­no­sis.

As World Can­cer Aware­ness con­tin­ues, Joseph’s mes­sage is sim­ple and ur­gent: do not live in fear. Whether it is breast can­cer, prostate can­cer, cer­vi­cal can­cer, or HPV pre­ven­tion, know­ing is al­ways bet­ter than not know­ing. She urges men and women to get screened, par­ents to pro­tect their chil­dren ear­ly, and the pub­lic to sup­port the Trinidad and To­ba­go Can­cer So­ci­ety, a life-giv­ing force backed by ded­i­cat­ed pro­fes­sion­als, sur­vivors, and cor­po­rate part­ners, all ad­vo­cat­ing for a health­i­er to­mor­row. “Can­cer knocked on my door,” Joseph says. “But knowl­edge, sup­port, and ac­tion opened an­oth­er one, and I chose to walk through it.”