Everyone has a different way of coping with a cancer diagnosis.
Shortly after my diagnosis, I had told an acquaintance who was in the field of counseling that I was going to start a blog. She looked and me, shook her head, and said, "Verna, Verna, Verna, what are you doing?"
I will never forget that moment nor the words she said. It shook me to the core. Self doubt set in hard!
I thought that writing a blog would be a good thing for me to do. A blog would clarify my thinking. A blog would share my news...good and bad...with family and friends. A blog would help me cope. A blog would inform others and spare me from retelling my story over and over. A blog could educate others that may be going through what I was going through.
I almost let her comment deter my belief that writing would be a good thing for me. After all, she was a counselor. She knows "stuff" I don't know.
But I didn't back down. I trusted my "gut" instinct and started my blog with the belief that it would be a positive move, a good thing for me!
And it has been!
A few weeks ago, I ran across an article I wish I would have had after my counselor acquaintance and I had that conversation. The article was written by a breast cancer survivor who happens to be a writer. It gives an excellent argument for handling a cancer diagnosis in the way that's best FOR YOU!
I have included the article below:
When I was going
through treatment, there was a woman that I used to always see in the infusion
ward. We had the same oncologist and we were going through the same scalp
cooling clinical trial, in an effort to save our hair through chemo. We were
always seated in the same treatment bay. So, from my point of view, we had lots
in common.
Being outgoing to a
fault, I tried to chat with her. Every infusion. And every time we sat together
having poison dripped into our veins, she shut me down. Didn’t want to talk.
Seemed angry and unfriendly. So by the last couple infusions, I learned to just
smile and nod.
I assumed that she
must just be a grumpy person, but she always had a different friend sitting
with her. So someone must have liked her…
Then, about four
months after our chemo ended, I ran into this woman as I was getting a
post-radiation checkup. She smiled broadly and extended her hand. “How are you
doing?” she asked in the cheeriest of tones. “Aren’t you glad THAT’s over?”
Her hair looked
fantastic; she looked fantastic. Her personality almost seemed to bubble over.
She was a completely different person now that treatment was almost finished.
That got me to
thinking about how everyone has their own particular way of dealing with the
terror and uncertainty that cancer brings into our lives.
Being a journalist,
and being gregarious, I turned my cancer into a “story.” Turning my illness
into a project kept it at arm’s length. Certainly, if I could explain what was
happening to me, I could beat it. I probably asked so many questions that I
really annoyed my medical team. I even interviewed the radiologist as she was
sticking needles into my left breast to guide the surgeon during my first
operation. I wrote about everything that happened. I talked to everyone,
endlessly.
Looking back, I now
realize that I was just trying desperately to stay in control. I don’t regret
what I did but I now realize it was a coping mechanism.
In contrast, I
think the lady who sat next to me in the infusion ward responded differently.
She turned in on herself. In the face of the scariest thing that may have ever
happened to her, she threw up walls. She took care of herself. She didn’t pay
much attention to others. She did what she needed to do, even if it made her
seem unfriendly. That, too, was a coping mechanism.
The mother of one
of my family’s dearest friends is now dying of lung cancer. She’s in her late
‘80s, and the cancer has spread to her brain and her bones. Her response is
simply to deny what’s happening to her. Her daughter, our dear friend, says
denial has been her mother’s coping mechanism forever.
So when we go to
visit this charming old lady in her assisted living facility and she talks
about how she’s going to move to Idaho because there’s a doctor there who has a
magic bullet that will make her well, we just nod seriously. There’s no point
in trying to set her straight. She’s just trying to cope.
For the woman who
set up the young survivors group that I joined, I think her response to cancer
was to organize. She’s now built a non-profit that runs support groups, pools
information, and organizes retreats, parties and other get-togethers for breast
cancer patients and breast cancer survivors. She’s a corporate attorney, and I
think she channeled her professional skills to create something that’s helped
hundreds of women. I also think her activism is a coping mechanism.
There’s no one
“right” way to respond to cancer. And, I think, when we’re in the moment, we
cancer patients really don’t have much control over how we respond.
Each style of
response has its pros and cons. My charm offensive helped me feel that I wasn’t
isolated, wasn’t helpless. Yet I wonder if I avoided fully feeling some things.
The lady who pulled up the drawbridge and turned in on herself probably
protected herself emotionally. But she also missed connections with people who
wanted to help. The mother of our friend keeps herself in a haze of delusional
hope, but I wonder if it will also get in the way of saying her goodbyes to
friends and family. The founder of my young survivors group has helped hundreds
of women. But by now, she must be 10 years post diagnosis. I think it must be
exhausting to keep cancer at the center of your life for that long.
If you’re the
friend or family member of a cancer patient, try to accept whatever response
your loved one has. They’re just trying to get through treatment. It may seem
that your loved one has lost their mind, or changed personality. It may make
you feel confused. Just remember they’re in the fight of their lives right now,
and they just need understanding and huge helping of forbearance.
If you’re a cancer
patient, remember that however you respond to your cancer, your way is okay.
We’re all just trying to cope.
Heather Millar is
an award-winning freelance writer and author. In her blog My Left Breast, she details her treatment for breast cancer as well as
the science, history, and ethics of the disease.
