I wanted to explore the
"Shame" of getting cancer a bit more.
The need to hide our disease. Cancer has so many faces, effects you in
so many different ways. Many bad, but
some good. So I guess the shame stems from many things as well. Some bad, and
some good. I don't know if everyone gets
to the place I am in, the place where you need to share despite
misgivings. Maybe it is because I am a
writer at heart and I finally have a real story to tell. A story that might actually
help others, for I am a healer at heart too. And if by my sharing, it can open
people's minds to the thoughts and feelings of cancer sufferers, I would like
to do that. If by sharing I can help other cancer patients feel a little less
alone, and that their feelings are normal, I want to do that.
For me, some of the shame of
sharing was simply not liking the attention or pity. I was worried when I started writing to you
guys, that some of you would think this was a cry for attention, to get
sympathy. That is the farthest thing
from my mind. I do, not, in,
any, way, shape,
or form, want this to be a pity party! So lets just get that straight right now! Got
it? Good.
Sometimes I just don't want
to be a Debbie Downer. Who wants to talk
about Cancer!? It's sort of taboo. You hide your scar, get a different bathing
suit so you don't gross anyone else out by your appearance or, heaven for bid, someone
asks how you got the scar! Then if you
reply that it was from cancer, you fear the reaction. Is it going to be pity?
masked horror? silence? You hope it will give you the opportunity to just give
others the heads up. Something to put in
their thinking cap. But there are a lot of Ostriches out there, who would
rather keep their head in the sand than consider the possibility that life is
fragile. You don't want to invade their comfy little ostrich hole.
Part of it is just not
wanting to deal with it yourself. If I don't admit it, don't talk about it,
maybe it isn't as real. Maybe it will kinda
go away. Some days, you just don't want to be a cancer patient. You just want
to be normal. But even that phrase,
cancer patient, leads to another issue. I don't feel like a "real"
cancer patient or a "survivor". It's the old, skin cancer isn't real
cancer problem. Melanoma patients are put in a cancer class all on its own. I
read a book written by a fellow sufferer, Michael Antcliffe. He did tile work
and at one of his jobs, the lady of the house mentioned that she was a cancer
survivor. His boss commented that
Michael was a cancer survivor too, from melanoma. Her reply??
"Oh no, I had "real" cancer." Smack! Oooo, That
hurt!! He died less than a year
ago. Is that real enough for you lady?!
People don't think it's
real because sometimes surgery is enough, sometimes you can cut it out and it
never comes back. You don't need to have chemo if you catch it early. (Actually,
for melanoma that metastasizes, chemo is very ineffective. Not a good thing in
the scheme of things) Most of the "treatment" is just watch and wait.
And so, since we sometimes "get off easy" in the treatment area, it feels
wrong to put yourself in the same category as other cancer patients. Even call
yourself a survivor. But after hearing
other people's stories, the constant uncertainty, the roller coaster ride of
melanoma, I have more respect for being a cancer survivor. It can go from
"A" ok, to fighting for your life, so fast. So I am trying to embrace
the surreal terms, cancer patient, and survivor, embrace them as my own. It's a battle in my head.
When I was starting this
chapter I looked up the term pity. And I
found something interesting..... the first meaning for "pity" was
"a regrettable or blameworthy act. "Shame" and "sin" was
a synonym...... interesting. I realize
this is not the empathy shade of the word, but still a relation. Somehow this world makes you feel like you
should feel blamed somehow for the cancer, feel shame, so hide it, hide it away so no one sees
your shame. I have shed that skin. And
it feels so nice. I can breath just a
little bit deeper.
Deep breath in, deep
breath out, close your eyes and sigh some relief. A small smile tugs at the
corners of my mouth. A moment of serenity. Moments I am thankful for.
Click for Michael Antcliffe's site and book.
(I'm not the only one that feels this way. Here are a few fellow melanomates comments about this blog post:
- Thanks for sharing! Your writing is amazing and hits home.
- Thank you so much for sharing. You are an inspiration to us all. When I was first diagnosed with melanoma, I didn't want anyone to know. But that all changed after trying to 'hide' it for two months. I no long keep quiet. It's up to all of us to spread the word about the dangers of tanning. Thank You.
And this is an article on how others don't feel the title of survivor fits at first. Featuring a fellow Stage 2 melanomate, Melissa: Article )
(I'm not the only one that feels this way. Here are a few fellow melanomates comments about this blog post:
- Thanks for sharing! Your writing is amazing and hits home.
- Thank you so much for sharing. You are an inspiration to us all. When I was first diagnosed with melanoma, I didn't want anyone to know. But that all changed after trying to 'hide' it for two months. I no long keep quiet. It's up to all of us to spread the word about the dangers of tanning. Thank You.
And this is an article on how others don't feel the title of survivor fits at first. Featuring a fellow Stage 2 melanomate, Melissa: Article )