One thing that you realize quickly when you have cancer is that telling people is weird. It's such a downer--dropping it on people makes them feel uncomfortable. Now that I am bald, my appearance does it for me, but prior to that--i struggled to know who I should say something to. A lot of people commented when I cut my hair, mostly with shock. I have always had long hair, so it was quite a change and then you throw in the color--and well, people weren't sure what to think. I wasn't sure if I should follow up their comment on my hair with, "Well i'm doing chemo right now, so its all going to fall out. I chopped it off to donate it." Awkward. Conversation stopper. Or, rather then tell them I would choose to just drop it and let them be shocked in a few weeks when the hair was gone.
Then, when I chose to tell people (or now when they ask why I shaved my head) how they respond to my diagnosis tells me a lot about them and their experience. I have lumped them into 3 general categories--
1. The majority of people respond with optimism. "You will beat this! You are strong. You will be fine." Sometimes it felt like they were trying to convince themselves as well as me. Most of these people have only had peripheral at best experience with cancer. On my REALLY bad days at the beginning, it annoyed me sometimes, their optimism. I know that sounds crazy, but I wanted to yell back at them, "How do you know? You aren't a doctor. What if I'm not strong, will I fail you? What if I don't beat it? Am a failure then?" I never did say that, but some days I thought it. I think that is normal--either that or I'm nuts. :) I understand the optimism, and accept their positive energy happily.
2. The next two groups are the minority, and I am making a lot of assumptions about these people when i slot them into one of the two categories. These two groups are those with personal experience with cancer. Group 2 is a small number. They either had cancer themselves or have a very close loved one they cared for throughout cancer treatment. Their responses were/are a muted positive. Not overly wordy, no quotes, no sayings, just down to earth advice and true experienced compassion in their voice. Its hard to explain the difference between their response and those in group one. It is subtle, but clear.
3. The third group is the most puzzling group. These are people who have had personal experience with cancer, but either it wasn't as close (a relative or friend, but they weren't the caretaker) or something else, I'm not sure, but not as close as those in group 2. When I tell this group they respond with pure negativity. Its surreal how many people have responded with negative comments. One woman asked me how chemo was going. I told her I was tolerating it well and it was okay. Her response? "It will get worse. Much worse." Um, okay. I mean what do you say to that? I just smiled and walked away.
Others tell me horror stories of women they know who had breast cancer and how they suffered and how horrible it was and then they died leaving children or a husband or something. I mean really? Another woman rambled on about all the complications her friend had had. Side effects and strange really rare responses to the medicines that caused numerous problems for her. The medicines almost killed her, and she thought treating cancer was worse then cancer. She recommended I look into other forms of treatment, not chemo. Maybe chemo wouldn't work. Um, thanks. Another told me chemo was poison and rambled on about big Pharma pushing it on oncologists, when herbs worked better. Eek. Okay. I was raised in a home where alternative medicine wasn't alternative, it was part of our lives, but I'll take the chemo, thank you.
I don't blame anyone for their response, especially group 3. I avoid those people in the future, but I understand life has clearly tarnished their view. That's fine. I hope to be in group 2 when this is all over.
Tomorrow I start my 3rd round of Chemo. I met with my oncologist on Friday. She is so wonderful. My blood work came back--white blood cells back to normal, and still anemic. My levels (red blood cells) dropped a bit more, but still in the mild category. She is impressed with my progress and very optimistic. She had a long talk with the neonatologist following my son and they want to take him at possibly 34 weeks! So strange to think he could be here that soon--that is in 10 weeks. It would mean I would do only 5 chemo rounds pregnant, and the rest after the baby comes. She also told me the chemo will resume 2 weeks after the baby is born. Not quite the break I was expecting, but I understand. We need to keep on top of this thing.
More to come--
Then, when I chose to tell people (or now when they ask why I shaved my head) how they respond to my diagnosis tells me a lot about them and their experience. I have lumped them into 3 general categories--
1. The majority of people respond with optimism. "You will beat this! You are strong. You will be fine." Sometimes it felt like they were trying to convince themselves as well as me. Most of these people have only had peripheral at best experience with cancer. On my REALLY bad days at the beginning, it annoyed me sometimes, their optimism. I know that sounds crazy, but I wanted to yell back at them, "How do you know? You aren't a doctor. What if I'm not strong, will I fail you? What if I don't beat it? Am a failure then?" I never did say that, but some days I thought it. I think that is normal--either that or I'm nuts. :) I understand the optimism, and accept their positive energy happily.
2. The next two groups are the minority, and I am making a lot of assumptions about these people when i slot them into one of the two categories. These two groups are those with personal experience with cancer. Group 2 is a small number. They either had cancer themselves or have a very close loved one they cared for throughout cancer treatment. Their responses were/are a muted positive. Not overly wordy, no quotes, no sayings, just down to earth advice and true experienced compassion in their voice. Its hard to explain the difference between their response and those in group one. It is subtle, but clear.
3. The third group is the most puzzling group. These are people who have had personal experience with cancer, but either it wasn't as close (a relative or friend, but they weren't the caretaker) or something else, I'm not sure, but not as close as those in group 2. When I tell this group they respond with pure negativity. Its surreal how many people have responded with negative comments. One woman asked me how chemo was going. I told her I was tolerating it well and it was okay. Her response? "It will get worse. Much worse." Um, okay. I mean what do you say to that? I just smiled and walked away.
Others tell me horror stories of women they know who had breast cancer and how they suffered and how horrible it was and then they died leaving children or a husband or something. I mean really? Another woman rambled on about all the complications her friend had had. Side effects and strange really rare responses to the medicines that caused numerous problems for her. The medicines almost killed her, and she thought treating cancer was worse then cancer. She recommended I look into other forms of treatment, not chemo. Maybe chemo wouldn't work. Um, thanks. Another told me chemo was poison and rambled on about big Pharma pushing it on oncologists, when herbs worked better. Eek. Okay. I was raised in a home where alternative medicine wasn't alternative, it was part of our lives, but I'll take the chemo, thank you.
I don't blame anyone for their response, especially group 3. I avoid those people in the future, but I understand life has clearly tarnished their view. That's fine. I hope to be in group 2 when this is all over.
Tomorrow I start my 3rd round of Chemo. I met with my oncologist on Friday. She is so wonderful. My blood work came back--white blood cells back to normal, and still anemic. My levels (red blood cells) dropped a bit more, but still in the mild category. She is impressed with my progress and very optimistic. She had a long talk with the neonatologist following my son and they want to take him at possibly 34 weeks! So strange to think he could be here that soon--that is in 10 weeks. It would mean I would do only 5 chemo rounds pregnant, and the rest after the baby comes. She also told me the chemo will resume 2 weeks after the baby is born. Not quite the break I was expecting, but I understand. We need to keep on top of this thing.
More to come--
Hey Jesso. Sorry for being in the first group. We just want to see you ok.Sending you love and some sunshine from Lusaka!
ReplyDeleteOh Isa, I did NOT mean to imply being in group one was bad. In fact, as long as you aren't in group 3, I am happy. Truly. Groups 1 and 2--those sending positive thoughts and energy--those are the people I surround myself with.
ReplyDelete