*There are no hard and fast rules on how to deal with a diagnosis. When you're newly diagnosed, everyone who loves you wigs out, not just you. Friendships shift (or tank as I've found out). Family roles and dynamics change (once again, my parents were caring for me even though I was 23, 24, and 25 when I had my cancer and reoccurances), sometimes forever. But YOU ARE NOT cancer.
*Just as we think no one can understand what we go through, the same holds true for the people who hold our hand through the tough stuff. These people are our fierce earth angels and co-survivors. It's very easy to get caught up in your own drama, as a cancer patient and forget other people's sufferings. Though our co-survivor's aren't riding the mechanical dragon like we are, standing dangerously close to the flames still leave them singed.
*Sharing your cancer tale may lead to an overwhelming feelings of needing to take care of the fragile person in front of you. Take the attention-demanding relative/friend. You pray they never find out because you know they'll hijack your diagnosis and make it about them. You are not responsible for other people's reactions, however, if you deal well, so will they. It they don't, well then you're not responsible for mopping up their mania. Sounds harsh, but I've been down this road. Of course people are going to be scared and upset, it's the overly dramatic "how can I use this person's illness to my advantage and to gain attention on myself. " And yes, I have dealt with those kind of people and sometimes dealing with the overly emotional person you just told is more exhausting then dealing with cancer itself.
*But sometimes judgement knocks and no one's home. There's a perception that sick looks and sounds a certain way., like if my tumors were on the outside it would make sense. Because they are invisible to the people on the outside, it's akward. Perhaps I should have carried around a sick person accessory . Pop an IV pole out of my pocketbook and wheel it around just so people know. Such comments and people do exsist. For example:
-I had one person tell me, "You don't look like you have cancer." Really? You don't look like an idiot, but apparently you are.
-Right before going on a 2 week medical leave, in which I was having surgery to once again remove cancerous tumors from my neck area, I had a co-worker tell me, "It must be nice to have a 2 weeks vacation." My response? "I'm having surgery for cancer.", and she came back with "Yeah, but still." A slap to the head was in order, but I was ready to spend any time in jail for assault, so I chalked it up to her being a complete moron.
*Try to explore and indulge the feelings of "Why me?" for no more then three days, and then move on. Not to say you can't revisit those emotions again. Cancer is a roller coaster: One minute you're up, the next you're plummeting to the ground. Family and friends may imagine that you're exaggerating the toll that your "battle" has taken on you, especially, if like in the above mentioned, you don't look sick. Well guess what? They're wrong. When you've been to the border of your mortality, a little loving rehabilitation is damn well in order!
* I went through a phase in which so-called healthy people made me bitter. I judged everybody: Look at that jackass at twelve o'clock. He's chain smoking and I'm the one with cancer. Or how about the hot dog eating bimbo at work? How can she doesn't have to find the humor in the tumor just to get by? The worst is when you see a pure that's just pure child-molesting, granny hurting bad, and they're healthy as a horse. That's the ultimate slap in the face. It can be really depressing being the "sick" chick. While everyone else builds castles in the sandbox, you're banished to the outside holding your pink plastic shovel and a pail full of cancer cooties. Cancer isn't contagious, but apparently ignorance and stupidity are.
*Cancer pushes all our insecurities to the surface. The first think I worried about during my diagnosis was" Will I lose my hair"? The second thing was "Will I die?"-second! That's how important my hair is/was to me. As it turned out, my hair stayed untouched but my self confidence plummeted. I still recognized the girl in the mirror, but I sensed that a part of her had gone missing. I wanted to stick a picture of myself on a milk carton and hope that someone would relocate me intact. Sometimes, no matter how much you know you should focus on your inner beauty, you can't get past what you see on the outside.
Cancer isn't fun. No one wants to go through it or prays they get it. But you realize when you're in the throes of being a cancer patient that you need to do something besides wallow in your self-pity and "What ifs" And believe it or not, I've had plenty of "look back and laugh" moments...for example:
*My dear friend Connie told me that now I could dress up as a Pez dispenser for Halloween, seeing as I had such a cool scar on my neck. Ha!
*I had the most adorable homosexual nurse at the Hershey medical center, he was amazing. He got me up to go to the bathroom and said, "Oh hold on honey, your backend if sticking out. Don't want anyone getting a good look at that." And he was sweet enough to rub my back as I puked into a bed pan, "let it out honey". Loved that nurse! Reminded me so much of the Intern Ross from Jay Leno.
*While at Harrisburg General having my surgery, an INCREDIBLY attractive young doctor came in to take the drain out of my chest. He walked out to get something and I said to my mother, "My hair is a freakin' mess and they send him in here to look at my chest?!" and then I desperatley tried to fix my hair.
* I got loopy off the pain meds and SWORE someone was on my parents porch trying to break in. I laid on the couch in my parents living room at 2 in the morning trying to call for my dad (I had lost my voice due to the surgery and could barely whisper let alone yell!). But he graciously got up to check as I "yelled" "Don't go out there!"
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