Who we are
Kristina Molnar
Some people find their purpose through passion. I found mine through trauma and the slow truth that no one could save me from what I had to walk through to become who I am today. I’m not who I was before, and I’m still learning what that means.
I’m a writer, caregiver, and reluctant expert in catastrophic plot twists. This Part started when life imploded: my husband got cancer, I got a double mastectomy, and life raising three wild boys didn’t slow down for any of it.
Some people call that character building. I call it emotional whiplash.
I’ve since learned that grief isn’t linear, strength isn’t silence, and rage can be a surprisingly useful catalyst. I built this space because I got tired of pretending I was “strong” when I was actually just dissociating or too exhausted to fall apart.
Now I write the stuff we’re not supposed to say, and create space for others to do the same. This Part is where those truths finally have somewhere to land.
I live in Ohio with my husband, three sons, a gang of pets*, and a deep appreciation for dark chocolate and darker jokes.
*PS: Kittens may be a questionable coping strategy, but the experiment is ongoing.
Ryan Molnar
My name is Ryan. I have stage four colon cancer.
In my twenties, I used to joke that karma would somehow pay me back for the crude and irreverent way I lived my life. Whether you believe in karma or not, she’s made a strong argument for her existence in my case.
My cancer diagnosis was born out of strict denial and a misplaced helping of main-character delusion. Until the word cancer was unceremoniously plopped in my lap, alone in an ER room with no cell service, I was certain all those symptoms I had been ignoring so well were IBS making itself known…shit, Crohn’s Disease at the worst, right?
Nope.
That one word, uttered so casually by a doctor I would never see again, would come to define so much of my life and the lives of those around me that I’ve found myself lost inside that silly little word more times than I care to admit.
But I am not cancer alone, and cancer does not define me any more than a single other word can. I am a husband. I am a dad. I am a diehard music lover and an amateur artist in every sense of those words.
My story didn’t begin with cancer, and damn it, it won’t end with cancer either. I choose to fill my story with This Part- the moments we steal from grief. The smiles we share when crying just isn’t enough. The truths that can only be found when you stop lying to yourself.
This Part is the hard part. It’s the part that demands the most work.
But it is also frustratingly simple. Choose honesty. Love fiercely. Be vulnerable, even when it stings. Never be afraid to admit you’re wrong. And learn, god damn it. Learn. Learn. Learn.
I will continue to fumble my way through This Part; to lean on my friends and family, to take less shit, and to live as crudely and irreverently as I so please. I hope this becomes a space for common ground, to help one another through the times that no one likes to talk about. To fill the holes in our lives that a word like cancer can open.
Always remember that we’re in This Part together. We are never alone.
Love your friends. Die laughing.
Joanna Bopp Yarnell
An individual with a former devil-may-care attitude to balance out the trials and toll of being a nurse within the U.S. healthcare system. After years of saying to myself “I really have to stop defining my life primarily by my vocation”, someone was listening because my largest persona changed from clinician to patient when I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma breast cancer.
I’m a patient at my own workplace. Yes, it’s problematic, humbling, enlightening, confusing, and way too much with not enough bandwidth for so many feelings. After close to a year of mostly failing at the balancing act of overlapping roles, I’m now actively carving out time to process instead of just compartmentalize.
For all of us who are struggling, this designated time and space to explore and hear each other should be regarded as a right, not a luxury.