Today was a victorious day for me!
I went to a training in Loxley, and I was one of the first to arrive. I didn't know anyone else attending the training so I took a seat near the front of the room and hoped someone nice would sit next to me. Soon after a kind-looking lady sat down. We introduced ourselves and made small talk. During the course of our conversatoin she mentioned that she had to call a doctor about her son's blood work. Her 17-year-old son has enlarged lymph nodes in his abdomen, and he has been experiencing a lot of pain. I looked at her and asked if she thought it might be Hodgkin's disease. I brought it up all by myself!!! She said that was a major possibility. So I did it. I told her am a Hodgkin's survivor. She said something like, "you are normal." Then she said that God had brought us together to reassure her. I felt moved to comfort her so I proceeded to tell her how I was diagnosed when I was 17, completed my senior year in high school, and was even drum major in the band. I was honest about having to have my hips replaced because of chemo, but for the most part, I wanted to share how normal my post-cancer life has been. I tried to reassure her that even if her son has Hodgkin's that he can experience many normal teenage things and grow into a truly happy adult. I even gave her my number and told her to call me. Most importantly, I never felt afraid or embarrassed to say any of those things to her. It is the first time in my life that I have talked face-to-face with someone about cancer without feelings of shame and discomfort. This was a big day for me.
My new friend had not received her son's results by the time we left, but she promised to let me know. I hope whatever his condition is that it is easily treated. Regardless of what his diagnosis ultimately is, he helped me in my own battle with myself, and I'm thankful for that.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Shutting down the evil voices
Last Wednesday I started feeling an acute pain in my upper back. By Thursday the pain was so sharp I couldn't breathe deeply. Every logical cell in my brain screamed that it was just a misaligned rib that would be fine with a quick trip to the chiropractor. However, the illogical cells started a rumor in my head that it was breast cancer.
I know that due to the location of treatment during radiation in 1995 that I have an increased risk of developing breast cancer. This increase is not so tremendous that getting breast cancer is imminent; however, I have spent many years trying to shut down the little voice in my head that says, "It's coming. It's coming." When I was around 30, I was totally convinced I would develop breast cancer by age 48. Having an actual age in my head almost destroyed everything I enjoyed. I consider it a victory that I only have thoughts of it every once in awhile, and I'm usually very capable of shushing that voice quickly.
After all these years, I still get jumpy when something isn't right. When I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease, I did not feel sick so my body and I don't have a very trusting relationship. It failed to warn me once, and I don't want to risk it again. When I do feel sick, particularly sore throats, I tend to freak out more than most people. I hate having swollen glands because that's what I thought the tumor in my neck was.
At any rate, my fabulous chiropractor poked my rib back in place. The soreness is subsiding, and I feel confident I'm ok. I've once again defeated the evil voice in my head.
I know that due to the location of treatment during radiation in 1995 that I have an increased risk of developing breast cancer. This increase is not so tremendous that getting breast cancer is imminent; however, I have spent many years trying to shut down the little voice in my head that says, "It's coming. It's coming." When I was around 30, I was totally convinced I would develop breast cancer by age 48. Having an actual age in my head almost destroyed everything I enjoyed. I consider it a victory that I only have thoughts of it every once in awhile, and I'm usually very capable of shushing that voice quickly.
After all these years, I still get jumpy when something isn't right. When I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease, I did not feel sick so my body and I don't have a very trusting relationship. It failed to warn me once, and I don't want to risk it again. When I do feel sick, particularly sore throats, I tend to freak out more than most people. I hate having swollen glands because that's what I thought the tumor in my neck was.
At any rate, my fabulous chiropractor poked my rib back in place. The soreness is subsiding, and I feel confident I'm ok. I've once again defeated the evil voice in my head.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Boys
For as long as I can remember I had the idea in my head that I would not get married until my late 20s, and therefore I was never in a serious relationship. However when I was in my late 20s, I dated the nicest guy for quite awhile. He was really sweet and fun, and although some of my friends disagreed, I thought he was handsome. We usually had a great time together even if we did nothing. Our relationship was just easy. It was like hiding away from the pressures of the "real world." With all that said, I never really planned to marry him even if his mother was ready to start making plans after about a year.
We had been dating about 4 months when I had my yearly cancer check-up. Even though I had been cancer-free over 10 years, I had a habit of spending a week or two before the big day making decisions on what I would do if I found out I had cancer again. Needless to say, I was not pleasant to be around prior to the visits. It may be hard to imagine, but I hadn't told my boyfriend about having cancer, and I didn't tell him about my appointment. I distinctly remember sitting in the waiting room at South Baldwin Hospital all by myself. As I sat there worrying about what my blood test and x-rays would show, it became more and more apparent that it would never be fair to bring someone in on that kind of life. I distinctly remembering a real sense of sadness that it wouldn't be right to allow someone to love me when my life might be cut short. I've never forgotten the feeling that I have a duty to protect people from me. Although my results were fine and my doctor told me not to worry about anymore yearly exams until I was 40, I never told my boyfriend about having cancer or the decision I made to protect people from loving me. I also felt a little twinge of guilt for the rest of our relationship that I was hiding these things. I justified it all by thinking that his mom knew my aunt and he was a friend of my cousin so he probably knew anyway.
Telling someone I had cancer when I was a teenager doesn't easily work its way into a conversation so I never brought it up with any of the guys I dated. That little twinge of guilt of not telling was always there. However, I enjoyed dating and being normal so much that I didn't want to risk losing that by spilling the beans.
Finally it all came out last year with a guy. He was fun, smart, outgoing, handsome, just fantastic in general. We hadn't been on many dates when he asked me about the two scars I have on my neck and near my collarbone. I panicked. I didn't want to stop things before they got started by telling him about the surgeries during my cancer treatment. I don't remember if I totally ignored the question or said something stupid about a knife fight (my usual answer that shuts people up quick), but I know I never mentioned cancer.
A few months later I saw a TV show about relationships and one of the key topics was sharing uncomfortable things from your past. The show advised getting things out in the open early. I decided that I had to talk about having cancer with this guy. I did not feel comfortable bringing it up, but I was committed to being honest if he gave me an opening. He gave me that opening a few weeks later when he asked again about how I got my scars. I was mortified, but I told him I had cancer when I was a teenager. He seemed to take it well, and even mentioned that could be a possible reason for the leg problems I was having. (He was right. I had to have both my hips replaced within a year of that conversation due to the long-term effects of chemo). I felt somewhat relieved that I had the courage to say it and he didn't freak out.
He dumped me the next week. He gave some cop-out reason that left me with no satisfaction. But what made it really hard on me was that I had trusted him with my secret, and it hadn't mattered. I'm sure he had no idea what a big deal it was for me to tell him that I had cancer. I had given him no reason to understand this. However, I felt, and sometimes still feel, like he stole this from me. Even though I still talk to him occasionally and have gone to dinner with him a few times since then, a tiny part of me thinks of him as the jerk who stole my cancer.
I say all this because I am stopping this pattern now. I had cancer. It's a part of my history, and it contributed to making me the fabulous person I am today. Up until now, I have given it more importance in my life than it deserves. I have let that one year overshadow the almost 33 other years of excitement, achievements, and joy. I will never again hide my cancer from anyone who is lucky enough to date me. Cancer survivor is only a fraction of who I am, and I don't need to protect anyone from me because of it.
We had been dating about 4 months when I had my yearly cancer check-up. Even though I had been cancer-free over 10 years, I had a habit of spending a week or two before the big day making decisions on what I would do if I found out I had cancer again. Needless to say, I was not pleasant to be around prior to the visits. It may be hard to imagine, but I hadn't told my boyfriend about having cancer, and I didn't tell him about my appointment. I distinctly remember sitting in the waiting room at South Baldwin Hospital all by myself. As I sat there worrying about what my blood test and x-rays would show, it became more and more apparent that it would never be fair to bring someone in on that kind of life. I distinctly remembering a real sense of sadness that it wouldn't be right to allow someone to love me when my life might be cut short. I've never forgotten the feeling that I have a duty to protect people from me. Although my results were fine and my doctor told me not to worry about anymore yearly exams until I was 40, I never told my boyfriend about having cancer or the decision I made to protect people from loving me. I also felt a little twinge of guilt for the rest of our relationship that I was hiding these things. I justified it all by thinking that his mom knew my aunt and he was a friend of my cousin so he probably knew anyway.
Telling someone I had cancer when I was a teenager doesn't easily work its way into a conversation so I never brought it up with any of the guys I dated. That little twinge of guilt of not telling was always there. However, I enjoyed dating and being normal so much that I didn't want to risk losing that by spilling the beans.
Finally it all came out last year with a guy. He was fun, smart, outgoing, handsome, just fantastic in general. We hadn't been on many dates when he asked me about the two scars I have on my neck and near my collarbone. I panicked. I didn't want to stop things before they got started by telling him about the surgeries during my cancer treatment. I don't remember if I totally ignored the question or said something stupid about a knife fight (my usual answer that shuts people up quick), but I know I never mentioned cancer.
A few months later I saw a TV show about relationships and one of the key topics was sharing uncomfortable things from your past. The show advised getting things out in the open early. I decided that I had to talk about having cancer with this guy. I did not feel comfortable bringing it up, but I was committed to being honest if he gave me an opening. He gave me that opening a few weeks later when he asked again about how I got my scars. I was mortified, but I told him I had cancer when I was a teenager. He seemed to take it well, and even mentioned that could be a possible reason for the leg problems I was having. (He was right. I had to have both my hips replaced within a year of that conversation due to the long-term effects of chemo). I felt somewhat relieved that I had the courage to say it and he didn't freak out.
He dumped me the next week. He gave some cop-out reason that left me with no satisfaction. But what made it really hard on me was that I had trusted him with my secret, and it hadn't mattered. I'm sure he had no idea what a big deal it was for me to tell him that I had cancer. I had given him no reason to understand this. However, I felt, and sometimes still feel, like he stole this from me. Even though I still talk to him occasionally and have gone to dinner with him a few times since then, a tiny part of me thinks of him as the jerk who stole my cancer.
I say all this because I am stopping this pattern now. I had cancer. It's a part of my history, and it contributed to making me the fabulous person I am today. Up until now, I have given it more importance in my life than it deserves. I have let that one year overshadow the almost 33 other years of excitement, achievements, and joy. I will never again hide my cancer from anyone who is lucky enough to date me. Cancer survivor is only a fraction of who I am, and I don't need to protect anyone from me because of it.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Is it a lie if you say nothing at all?
Last year at my school there was an incident where one student told another he had drugs to share with him. A third student overheard the conversation and told his teacher. The two students who were in on the drugs were sent to the office, counseled, and punished. The student who told on the classmates told me later that he told the teacher immediately. Then the boy asked me if I was proud of him. I looked at his face that was so desperately seeking my approval. I told him I was very proud of him, and I meant it. By all means, he did the right thing by speaking up. Although the "drugs" were some type of spice like oregano, this child was very brave to notify his teacher of a potentially dangerous situation.
For years I have not had the bravery of this young boy. I have kept the fact that I had cancer a secret to as many people as possible. In some situations it made no difference. There is no need for my name to become Margaret Jayne I Had Cancer Bemis. However, there are many other situations where it is more than appropriate to speak up.
Two years after I graduated from college, I landed a job as a Special Events Manager for the American Cancer Society. My job would entail managing four fundraising events where the money would go for research, education, advocacy, and services in the fight against cancer. In this job cancer survivors were revered. I, along with my co-workers, worked very hard to incorporate cancer survivors as volunteers. They were the best ambassadors in our fight. However, in the year I worked for ACS, I only told three of my co-workers that I had cancer, and I asked them not to mention it to anyone else. I told one because when I was hired I had to fill out a form that listed any possible medical issues, and she had to send the form to the division headquarters. The other two learned I had cancer at a division training. I don't remember the circumstances, but I remember the horrible feeling of having more people find out.
While not telling my co-workers that I was a cancer survivor doesn't bother me much, I am bothered by the fact that I never shared this with my volunteers. Many of them, especially those who were also survivors, deserved to know. Those who were battling cancer when while volunteering with me could have been strengthened by knowing that I had won the same battle. I had a volunteer who was fighting breast cancer. She was a young woman, probably in her 30s. She was so discouraged by losing her hair and having her skin break out. I had faced those same things and had come out better. I could have shared my story with her. By holding my secret so tightly, I stole from her piece of mind that things could get better. I should have done things better. I should have accepted this part of me and used it to benefit others.
I can't change that now. I can't even say the times I've spoken about my cancer experience when I was a volunteer made up for not being truthful with people. Even when I've spoke, I've very carefully chosen what I would say. I've never shared the feelings of fear or shame. I've flat out lied about having hope and courage. I believe surviving cancer can bring out the best and the worst of people. While fighting cancer brought out the best in me, surviving cancer has been a battle against the worst parts of my character. So I had cancer, and I survived it more or less intact. It is my sincere hope that most cancer survivors deal better with the aftermath than I have. Everyday I struggle not to be ashamed that my body failed itself, but I am working on overcoming that each day I write in the blog. Thank you for humoring me.
For years I have not had the bravery of this young boy. I have kept the fact that I had cancer a secret to as many people as possible. In some situations it made no difference. There is no need for my name to become Margaret Jayne I Had Cancer Bemis. However, there are many other situations where it is more than appropriate to speak up.
Two years after I graduated from college, I landed a job as a Special Events Manager for the American Cancer Society. My job would entail managing four fundraising events where the money would go for research, education, advocacy, and services in the fight against cancer. In this job cancer survivors were revered. I, along with my co-workers, worked very hard to incorporate cancer survivors as volunteers. They were the best ambassadors in our fight. However, in the year I worked for ACS, I only told three of my co-workers that I had cancer, and I asked them not to mention it to anyone else. I told one because when I was hired I had to fill out a form that listed any possible medical issues, and she had to send the form to the division headquarters. The other two learned I had cancer at a division training. I don't remember the circumstances, but I remember the horrible feeling of having more people find out.
While not telling my co-workers that I was a cancer survivor doesn't bother me much, I am bothered by the fact that I never shared this with my volunteers. Many of them, especially those who were also survivors, deserved to know. Those who were battling cancer when while volunteering with me could have been strengthened by knowing that I had won the same battle. I had a volunteer who was fighting breast cancer. She was a young woman, probably in her 30s. She was so discouraged by losing her hair and having her skin break out. I had faced those same things and had come out better. I could have shared my story with her. By holding my secret so tightly, I stole from her piece of mind that things could get better. I should have done things better. I should have accepted this part of me and used it to benefit others.
I can't change that now. I can't even say the times I've spoken about my cancer experience when I was a volunteer made up for not being truthful with people. Even when I've spoke, I've very carefully chosen what I would say. I've never shared the feelings of fear or shame. I've flat out lied about having hope and courage. I believe surviving cancer can bring out the best and the worst of people. While fighting cancer brought out the best in me, surviving cancer has been a battle against the worst parts of my character. So I had cancer, and I survived it more or less intact. It is my sincere hope that most cancer survivors deal better with the aftermath than I have. Everyday I struggle not to be ashamed that my body failed itself, but I am working on overcoming that each day I write in the blog. Thank you for humoring me.
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