Message from Anna Umemiya: “I began treatment for breast cancer on July 31.”

この８月、梅宮アンナさんがご自身の乳がんへのり患を公にした記事『【独占告白】梅宮アンナからメッセージ「私、7月31日に乳がん治療を始めました」』（リンク）は大反響を集めました。

その後、「乳がんという病気と向き合う自分の気持ちを英語圏の人にも伝えたい」と感じるアンナさんが、ひとり娘・百々果（ももか）さんとも相談しながら、いまの気持ちを英訳しました。

身近な英語話者の方にどうぞアンナさんのこの気持ちをお伝えください。（オトナサローネ編集部）

＊＊＊＊

Hello, this is Anna Umemiya.

I have some unexpected news to share. I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer.

It is a rare histological type of cancer known as ”invasive lobular carcinoma,” located in my right breast. Classified as Stage IIIA, with metastasis to the right axillary (armpit) lymph node. The subtype of cancer was hormone receptor-positive, and HER2-negative.

In late May, I noticed some unusual changes, and by mid-June, I had gone to the hospital multiple times to undergo tests. In early July, I was finally diagnosed with my cancer. On July 31st, I began “neoadjuvant chemotherapy”. This is done before my surgery.

First, I’ll be undergoing “AC therapy,” followed by “paclitaxel,” and hopefully the cancer will be small enough to perform surgery. With the guidance of trusted doctors, we’re going to fight this disease from all angles, focusing primarily on “standard treatment.”

The moment I was diagnosed with cancer, I found myself thinking “So it’s finally my turn.”

As devastating as it sounds to be diagnosed with cancer, I felt as if the time has come for it to be my turn. I am deeply grateful for everyone who asked, “Are you okay, Anna?” But I accept this as something I need to go through.

All my life, I believed that everything happens for a reason and I truly believe that there is a reason behind this diagnosis. I feel at peace with my cancer because I believe that God has plans for me. It feels like God is saying, “Anna, you still have things to do.” Ever since my diagnosis, it has broadened my view on a a lot of things; both for the good and the bad.

Honestly, the first thing that came to my mind when I was told, “You have cancer” was, “So it’s finally my turn.” As shocking as that sounds, that was the only thought that ran through my mind.

Since I was little, I grew up seeing everyone in the Umemiya family struggle with cancer, and I always thought that one day, I’d end up with it too, due to genetics. My father, Tatsuo Umemiya, had lung cancer at 36 and lived side by side with cancer until he passed away at 81. Both of his sisters also battled cancer—one with colon cancer and the other with breast cancer.

So, when I received the diagnosis, I wasn’t all that shocked.

Part of the reason I didn’t have a chance to be surprised was because the doctor casually said, “It’s cancer,” with no emotion. More than that, my mother was there with me, and I felt, “I didn’t want her to hear this directly!” I was terrified that I couldn’t even look at her sitting beside me. I had wished that I came alone and not brought my own mother to such unfortunate news. Later, Claudia told me, “Anna, you were so calm about it that it helped me. I don’t think I could have handled it.” That sentence alone lifted a lot of weight off my shoulders.

However, I did not immediately accept the cancer.I cried and cried.

I feel as if I’m making it seem like I accepted my cancer right away; that is far from reality. I cried and cried. It’s been about a month since my diagnosis and as expected, there are stages to accepting such a devastating diagnosis.

For the first ten days after my diagnosis, I was in a daze. And then, around the tenth day, I suddenly started crying.

I kept thinking, “Am I going to die? It’s cancer after all. I’m going to die, right? What should I do? …Chemotherapy?  Will I lose my hair?  What should I do?”

I plunged into a frantic search online. I was hit with a jarring shock seeing how hair loss happens. I even thought, maybe I should just stop the treatment and accept my fate as it is. I cried every day, and even at the supermarket, just seeing onions would make tears stream down my face. I cried when I woke up, and I cried before I went to sleep. I could not stop crying.

At this point, I confided in a friend living in America, saying, “I have cancer, and I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t even go through with the treatment.” My friend, who has been battling cancer for many years and is now in her 60s, became incredibly angry. She said, “Do you understand? You’re Momoka’s mother, right? Have you ever thought about what it would be like for her to face the death of a beloved mother who gave up on treatment at just 21?”

Her words were incredibly heavy, and they completely shifted my mindset. If Momoka were still little and living with me, I would have naturally fought on for her sake without needing any external motivation. But now, Momoka is living in the United States, and the distance has created a painful void. Knowing every day that she’s halfway across the world made me depressed and I tried do things to distract myself from the fact that she wasn’t with me anymore. I was so heartbroken over her absence that I had been trying to forget her and had only just started to get used to her not being here. Her words jolted me into remembering what I had forgotten: I can’t just die; I must fight.

That was the turning point. Everything started moving. Who should I call? Who should I tell? I realized I needed to inform everyone important to me about my situation, not out of a desire for sympathy or rescue, but to say, “I don’t know what my future holds. Please lend me your strength.”

It was a whirlwind. I spent my days telling people, preparing for my life with treatment, and whenever I had the time, I read numerous books on breast cancer, immersing myself in learning. I researched everything I’d need for chemotherapy—wigs, eyelash care, eyebrow art—trying to figure out what was available and where to find it. I know that my cancer treatment has only begun recently, but I already found my favorite wig. I’ve always loved finding these kinds of items since my JJ days, and I was good at it. I hope to share some of these stores and items with everyone.

This illness made me pause. It made me realize my “true heart.”

Thinking back, on the night of the diagnosis, I slept deeply for the first time in years. It was strange—I thought, “I can finally rest.” I must have subconsciously realized that this was a chance to take a break from my long career in entertainment and that a new mission to forge my own path was beginning. I felt like I could finally breathe.

It’s been about four years since my father, Tatsuo Umemiya, passed away. At first, I was overwhelmed with inheritance matters, and later, I continued to talk about inheritance as part of my work. During that time, I started to question whether the entertainment industry really suited me. I desperately searched for what I could experience that others couldn’t, and honestly, each day wasn’t enjoyable. I wondered if this was how my life would end. Though I enjoyed posting on Instagram, everything else felt incredibly empty. I didn’t even want to live a long life; I often told my friends, “I don’t want to live long.” I thought I’d end up like my mother, who couldn’t even call a taxi, struggling to keep up with the times and becoming a burden when I was 80.

Looking back, I never really thought of myself as a celebrity. Celebrities are people with extraordinary talents, and I always felt out of place, as if I didn’t belong not just in that industry, but in this world. That has been a constant source of immense pressure for me.

Now, I spend my days staring blankly at the TV, watching everyone with deep respect. I spent most of my life acting like everything is fine; always with a smile on my face and when asked a question about fatigue, I would answer, “No! I’m happy!”. It’s been like that every day since I joined this industry. There needs to be a stop to this someday and I feel like that time has come.

For the first time in my life, I can finally stop and rest. Everything was so hectic before. It was rare for me to stay at the dinner table until the end; I was always getting up because I had another appointment. But since learning about my illness and taking a break from work, I’ve started to savor and appreciate every living second. I now enjoy every drop of coffee, and the view has dramatically changed—life has become enjoyable. I’ve come to appreciate so many things. My senses of smell and taste have changed; everything I eat is extraordinarily delicious. It might sound exaggerated, but I’ve even cried from joy.

I was surprised to learn how good mangoes taste. Embarrassingly, I didn’t know mangoes had seeds. I was confused when I first saw the seed in the middle. I never liked or ate fruits and vegetables, but now, my body craves what it needs, and I started to truly listen to my body. I’m eating more than ever before, trying new things like kiwi, which I’d never had before, and was moved by how great it was. It might sound dramatic, but it honestly made me cry.

When Claudia and I laugh about having McDonald’s for lunch and exclaim, “Sounds great!” I can’t help but feel an unexpected joy at having all this time on my hands. I’ve always felt out of place, from elementary school to middle school, but now, it feels like I’m finally finding my place, one step at a time. This sudden diagnosis seems like an opportunity to rethink my life and find a way that truly fits me.

I would like you to make a self “promise for the near future” rather than a simple “You’ll be fine!”

What I need more than “You’ll be fine!” is a promise of a slightly distant future. By honestly sharing my journey and how I navigate through it, I hope to eventually help someone else who’s battling cancer in a similar way. My criteria for everything has always been whether it helps someone else, and that hasn’t changed. I want to show how my heart is moving, what phenomena occur, and how I am confronting them. I’m not saying that I’m a professional at this, but I want people to see what I’m going through and if it helps even one person, I feel as if I have reached my goal.

One more thought that’s been weighing on me:

Cancer is different for everyone. Just because someone with a certain stage of cancer was okay, or because a friend was fine, doesn’t mean that’s the case for everyone. It’s different for each person.

Cancer is incredibly harsh both physically and mentally, and the battle is relentless. It’s not a disease where you just go through treatment, and it’s gone; no one knows what will happen the next day. Each person’s cells and blood are different, so even with the same treatment, no one can predict the outcome.

I need to confess something that’s been on my mind recently:  when I tell people I have cancer, they say, “Hang in there! You’ll be fine!” I genuinely appreciate these words and am grateful for the support. However, for the first time, I’m finding it hard to say, “I’m okay” when I’m not. I may have made others feel the same way before, but from those words of encouragement, I’ve felt immense pressure. I never thought about how sometimes words of encouragement can be painful. I smile and say thank you, but each time it’s been painful. The more I research and understand, the more I realize that “being okay” is an illusion, and I can’t keep facing this harsh reality while trying to stay strong.

So now, rather than hearing “Hang in there!” or “You’ll be fine!”, what I’d prefer is a promise of a slightly distant future, like, “Let’s go to Hawaii and play golf to celebrate your recovery.” That kind of forward-looking promise is just what I need right now. Thank you for listening.

I believe there will be friends with whom I grow closer and others who drift away. Those who become distant may think they’re giving me space, but I would prefer them to reach out and ask, “How are you doing, Anna?” or “What’s your temperature today? Is your slight fever gone?”

I would like to connect with everyone who is fighting the same disease and supporting them!

I want to connect with everyone else battling cancer and those supporting them! You can reach me via the email address posted on Instagram. Media representatives, if you can offer empowering interviews, please get in touch.

From here on, I plan to continue updating my Instagram and summarizing comments into a series as I manage my health. Despite having cancer, I’m finding a way to embrace happiness. I feel like having this significant illness is bringing me closer to the meaning of life.

Please continue to support me, Anna Umemiya, a first-year cancer fighter.

https://www.instagram.com/annaumemiya/?hl=ja

Anna UMEMIYA

Born August 20, 1972, is a Japanese television personality and model,actress. Born in Tokyo, she is the daughter of a Japanese father and an American mother, herself a former model. Her father, Tatsuo Umemiya, was an actor.

（英文翻訳・校正／佐藤朋美、Momoka Stephanie Umemiya）