Leaving More Than a House Behind: When a Move Becomes Part of Survivorship

When my husband and I decided to sell our home and start fresh after my cancer journey, I thought we were simply leaving behind painful memories. I didn’t realize the move itself would uncover a new lesson in survivorship, one about environmental risks, potential exposures, and the importance of informed choices long after treatment ends.

On February 9th, my husband and I put our house on the market, and within hours, we had a contract. Most homeowners would call that a dream. For me, it was complicated.

This house represented far more than square footage and curb appeal. It held the weight of the hardest season of my life, the months following my cancer diagnosis. We had only moved to this city because my husband’s company relocated him. His daily commute had been nearly four hours round-trip, so moving made practical sense.

But almost immediately after unpacking our boxes, I was diagnosed with cancer.

Instead of discovering new restaurants, churches, and neighbors, I learned oncology waiting rooms, treatment schedules, and the exact shade of hospital ceilings at 3:00 a.m. Instead of building memories, I built survival routines. So, when my husband gently said, “Maybe it’s time for a fresh start,” I didn’t hesitate. I had prayed for a day when this city would no longer feel like the place where life paused.

And yet, the moment our house sold, I felt an unexpected wave of fear. We weren’t just leaving difficult memories behind, we were leaving the doctors who helped save my life.

Cancer survivors understand a unique attachment to their medical teams. These people know your story in ways few others do. They remember your lab numbers, your reactions, your anxieties before you even say them out loud. They become anchors in an uncertain world. Leaving them felt like stepping away from something familiar.

Still, we moved forward. Faith had carried us through treatment; it would carry us through transition.

We began touring homes. New construction neighborhoods lined the roads, neat, polished, and nearly identical. Beautiful, yes. Memorable, no. After a while, every kitchen blended into the next. Then we found it. A lovely home in a 55+ community, backing up to a golf course. Quiet. Peaceful. Scenic. It felt like the kind of place where recovery could finally turn into living again. We told our agent to write the contract.

Halfway through, she called me with an unexpected question: “Have you ever looked into the health considerations of living near a golf course?”

I thought she meant flying golf balls, but I was wrong.

She explained that golf courses are often treated with chemicals such as pesticides, herbicides, and fungicides, and that some research has explored possible neurological risks for people living nearby. One statistic she shared gave me pause: some studies suggest higher rates of certain neurological conditions among people living in close proximity to heavily treated greens.

After surviving cancer, I didn’t need much convincing to take environmental factors seriously, so I started researching. What I found shifted my perspective.

Golf courses and professionally maintained lawns require regular chemical management. Perfect turf doesn’t happen naturally; it is maintained. The smooth green surface relies on substances designed to control weeds, fungi, and insects.
I found information on several commonly used products, including:

Glyphosate-based herbicides, which have been widely used for weed control and remain the subject of ongoing scientific debate, with some international agencies classifying them as probable carcinogens and continued research examining possible associations with certain cancers.
2,4-D, a common broadleaf weed treatment, has been studied for potential links to lymphatic cancers and endocrine effects and is frequently detected in residential environments.
Chlorpyrifos and other organophosphate insecticides, now increasingly restricted, have historically been used in turf management and are known to affect the nervous system.
Carbendazim and related fungicides, used to maintain turf quality, have demonstrated endocrine and reproductive effects in laboratory settings.
Synthetic nitrogen fertilizers and nitrate runoff are not directly carcinogenic, although nitrates can convert in the body to compounds that have been associated with increased cancer risk in some studies when exposure is chronic.

What stood out to me was not only the substances themselves but also the frequency of application. Courses may be treated repeatedly throughout the year, and factors such as spray drift, soil dust, groundwater movement, and pets tracking residue indoors can extend exposure beyond the course.

For a cancer survivor already attentive to health risks, this felt meaningful. Before cancer, I probably would have signed the paperwork without another thought. I would have seen beauty, not biology. Cancer changes how you evaluate risk.

You begin asking questions you may not have considered before:
What am I breathing?
What am I touching?
What am I bringing into my home?

Survivorship doesn’t mean living in fear, but it does mean living informed.

My husband and I looked at each other and knew immediately: peace of mind mattered more than a view. We walked away from the golf course home and kept searching. Soon after, we found another house we loved just as much, without the same concerns.

This move became more than geography. It became symbolic.

Cancer treatment focuses on removing disease from the body. Survivorship focuses on reducing avoidable risk where possible.
We cannot control every exposure. Modern life includes synthetic materials, treated fabrics, vehicle exhaust, cleaning agents, plastics, and air pollutants. Eliminating all risks is not realistic.

But reducing avoidable exposure can be empowering.

The lesson I learned from a near-purchase was simple: healing doesn’t end when treatment does. Sometimes it looks like asking one more question before signing a contract.

Today, I don’t live in fear of recurrence. I live in awareness.

Cancer survivors know better than most that health isn’t guaranteed, but stewardship matters. Paying attention to our environment, questioning chemicals in our homes and communities, and choosing safer options when possible are not acts of paranoia.

They are acts of intention.

Potential carcinogens are present in many everyday environments, lawns, garages, cleaning cabinets, air fresheners, and sometimes even the green spaces we admire from our back porches. We cannot avoid everything. But if there is something we can reasonably avoid, it is worth considering.

Because sometimes survivorship isn’t just about beating cancer once, it’s about living thoughtfully in the years that follow.