Cancer is often described as a battle, but for theatre director Alexia Papalazarou, it has been an enduring journey of resilience, courage, and unwavering determination. Diagnosed in 2017 with breast cancer, her fight did not end there. Over the years, the disease spread to her lungs, then her brain, and continues to metastasise. Yet, despite the immense physical and emotional toll, Alexia stands firm, determined to live life on her terms.
My name is Alexia Papalazarou. I am a theatre director, and since 2017, I have been a cancer patient.
A promise to keep living
Recounting her experience in a heartfelt speech for World Cancer Day, Alexia Papalazarou recalled the moment she had to break the devastating news to her then 12-year-old daughter. “Mum, are you going to die?” her daughter had asked, tears streaming down her face. With a reassuring smile, she made a solemn vow: “Of course not. I will continue to pester you, to nag you.” And she has kept that promise.
Through eight years of relentless treatments—chemotherapy, radiotherapy, surgeries—she has refused to let the disease define her. Even after undergoing a mastectomy, experiencing hair loss, and facing the brutal side effects of treatment, she continued directing theatre, finding solace in her art.
The daily reality of living with cancer
Alexia describes the routine of her treatments with remarkable candour. Each Monday, she waits for her number to flash on a hospital screen. “34,634,” her new identity, a numerical representation of her battle. From infusion rooms to chemotherapy chairs, her body absorbs drug cocktails while her mind drifts into dreams of life beyond the hospital walls.
Despite the exhaustion and pain, she never ceased working. Mornings were spent enduring chemotherapy, while evenings were dedicated to theatre rehearsals. “Cancer and I have become friends,” she says. “We walk together. I (walk) with my cane, it (walks) with determination. And we carry on.”
Finding beauty in small moments
Cancer has given her a new perspective on life, sharpening her appreciation for the simplest moments—sunrises, a flower blooming through a crack in the pavement, the warmth of an embrace. These moments, once overlooked, have become treasures.
Above all, her daughter remains her greatest source of strength. “I look at her insatiably, soaking in her image, so that if I ever have to leave, I will carry as much of her with me as I can.”
A call for support and dignity
While Alexia’s spirit remains unbroken, the reality of living with cancer is harsh, particularly in terms of financial strain. Advised not to drive due to her condition, she struggles with daily transportation, relying on loved ones when possible. Living alone with her two dogs, she acknowledges the risks—what if she falls? What if she needs help in the middle of the night? Doctors urge her to hire home assistance, but she simply cannot afford it.
“I never liked talking about money,” she admits. “But this is a truth that doesn’t just affect me. It affects every patient. We need the state to stand by us. We need home care, support, the right to live with dignity.”
Despite the invaluable support from PASYKAF and dedicated healthcare workers, resources are stretched thin. Cancer patients should not have to fight alone, she argues. They need more than just medical treatment—they need the ability to live freely, without the constant burden of logistical and financial struggles.
Stronger together: A message of hope
As she stood before her audience, the room erupted in applause. Her body may be exhausted, but her mind remains clear and determined. “I have to survive. I have to put my daughter through university. I have to live as a normal person.”
Her words are not just a personal testimony but a call to action. Cancer is not just an illness; it is a lifelong journey that demands systemic support. Patients should not have to beg for help or live in fear of becoming a burden. They deserve to be seen as individuals, not just statistics on a hospital screen.
“Together, we are strong,” she concludes. “But we need the state to stand with us. We need to feel free.”
Alexia Papalazarou’s speech on World Cancer Day:
“The screen in front of me keeps changing rhythms. I sit in the large hall. I look across and wait to see the screen flash. The number 34,634, my new identity. Sometimes, the rhythm of life flashes. I see it and get up. I first enter the infusion room to be prepared for chemotherapy. Then, to the laboratories for the doctor to see me, and back to the waiting room to see 34,634 appear so I can go in for chemotherapy. I enter the large chemotherapy hall. A kind, smiling nurse guides me to my chair. I lie back, they prepare me, and my body is ready to receive the various drug cocktails administered to me for one, two, three… however many hours it takes. I close my eyes and begin my own life journeys. Time passes, and I dream.
This has been my routine for the past eight years. I leave the oncology centre with an extension of life. I leave almost happy that I haven’t stopped loving life, dreaming, setting new goals. Cancer and I have become friends. We walk together. I (walk) with my cane, it (walks) with determination, and we carry on. I have accepted it. My weapon is science. The doctors who serve it, the nurses, PASYKAF, who support us. My 20-year-old daughter, my heart-friends, my family, my loved ones, my students—my children—my two wonderful dogs. With all of them, I continue to live and be strong.
It takes virtue and courage to face cancer. It requires you, the patient, to see life through different lenses, and you do. You start noticing sunsets, sunrises. How beautiful the sunsets have become. Suddenly, you notice the little flower peeking through the crack in the road. How beautiful are those things you once considered small. You strive to capture them. You love them. You love everything. A hug, a smile. Never before have I felt the warmth of a hug so deeply. But most of all, I look at my daughter insatiably. Truly, I cannot get enough of her image. Because, I say, if I happen to leave, I want to carry as much of Lazaria with me as I can. You must search for the fragments of your soul, name them, accept them. To redefine your life. To rid yourself of burdens you carry. To free yourself from wounds and guilt. From anything else that makes life small and insignificant. No, it is not easy. We cannot always do it alone. We need our loved ones beside us. A smile, a message on the phone, a walk with a friend. A trip. A night at a tavern. Conversations about what is happening inside you and around you. These simple, everyday things help us continue. To know that you are beside us and that together we are strong enough to face cancer as just another illness, like all the others.
There are many difficult moments, but you find the strength. You want to live. My own difficult moment… brain radiotherapy. A mask made on my face and I was screwed onto a table, motionless. That, yes, was the hardest. And then I said, ‘Alexia, you have no choice, this is a one-way street. You have to do it.’ To endure it, I brought my mother and father close to me. They held my hand, talked to me, smiled at me, and I became a child again. And so, the 40 minutes of immobility and claustrophobic atmosphere passed. Believe me! Almost pleasantly. The treatment ended, and I gently let go of my father’s and mother’s hands to continue living. You draw strength from those who make you stronger.
The even harder moment was when I had to tell my then 12-year-old daughter. How do you break such news to a 12-year-old child? I, of course, told her somehow between seriousness and joking. Without remembering exactly how. But I do remember her silence. And the next moment, her face. A face wet with tears. ‘Mum, are you going to die?’ I laughed. I tried to act like I was laughing. ‘What are you saying, my girl? Of course, I’m not going to die. I’ll keep nagging you. Keep pestering you,’ I told her. ‘Promise me! Swear you won’t die.’ I answered, ‘My love, I will suffer. They will remove a breast. I will gain weight. My hair will fall out. But I will overcome all of it. Your mother is strong, she will fight. I promise you.’ I kept the promise I made to my daughter. From this trial, both my daughter and I will come out stronger. I will give her all the tools to fight. To stand on her own feet and love life, with everything it brings. Yes, I did it! I made her strong. Even though I made her cry many times. You see, I never hid from her the second, nor the third cancer. My daughter never saw me as sick. My daughter saw me living. Smiling. Dreaming. Never stopping working for a minute. Going to chemotherapy in the morning and theatre rehearsals in the evening. For eight years now, I have kept the promise I made to her. No, it is not easy. But it is not impossible. As long as we are together, because together we are strong.
My name is Alexia Papalazarou. I am a theatre director, and since 2017, I have been a cancer patient. In May 2017, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had a mastectomy. Morning chemotherapy, evening theatre rehearsals. November 2021, lung cancer. Morning chemotherapy and radiotherapy, evening theatre rehearsals. October 2022, brain cancer. Five hours of surgery, ten days later, back to theatre rehearsals. Morning, the most difficult radiotherapies, evening, theatre rehearsals. 2022–2025, brain metastases. The treatments continue, and I continue working in theatre. With a body exhausted, tired…But with a clear mind.
My body screamed ‘rest,’ I pretended not to hear it. I have to survive. I have to put my daughter through university. I have to live like a normal, ordinary person. No, I don’t want to ask for charity. I don’t want to be a burden to my family, my friends. I want to keep living with dignity. My doctors, after my brain cancer, told me I cannot drive. For three years now, I go from the oncology centre to work. How many times can I ask my loved ones to take me and bring me back? There is no money for drivers, for taxis. I live alone with my two dogs. My daughter is a student in Athens. With an exhausted body. ‘Fatigue poses risks, Alexia, it’s dangerous for you to live alone. If you fall in the shower? If you feel unwell in the night, what will you do? You need to hire help at home,’ they tell me. But with what money?
You know, I never liked talking about money. And right now, I feel uncomfortable mentioning it. But this is a truth that is not just about me. It concerns every patient. This truth must be spoken so that those who make decisions for us hear it. Stronger together! Yes, but we also need the state beside us. We need support. We need the right to be strong. To not feel sick. Weak. Do not label us as patients. Yes, PASYKAF stands by us, and their people care for us with a smile and kindness, but we are many, and we want to feel free.”
Also read: World Cancer Day: hope, prevention, and treatment
