I.
Sometimes I’m stuck by a grief so strong I can’t take a breath.
II.
In a recent online national lung cancer group, a few of us started talking about the name we use to describe ourselves. I mentioned that my local group had begun thinking about ourselves not as survivors but as thrivers. What a discussion emerged! Some people don’t feel they’ve earned the term “survivor” from the moment of diagnoses (the commonly held perspective in the field of cancer care.) Some feel that they may not survive, so the term doesn’t apply to them. Others feel the term fixes their identity in illness, when living with a chronic condition is only a part of their identity.
“Thriver” also has the potential to limit people, for example, by appearing to discount the constant decision-making, the discomfort (misery) of side effects, the very real ways in which cancer steals away what’s possible.
The term “warrior” also came up, with pros and cons of its own. Is cancer a battle one wins or loses? Many people say no, it’s just the card I’ve been dealt. I’ll take it one day at a time and confront what arises. Or, yes, I am in the fight for my life. Me, I love the word “warrior” because it sounds so daring, so bad-ass, if you will. Not a battle per se, but an attitude of swaggering into my life.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a cancer thriver. What I’ve come up with is that, as an online friend says, every day you decide to live. For me, that means not to wait and see what the day brings, but to live intentionally. To awaken and ask myself, “OK, I’ve got a whole day ahead. How will I inhabit it? What actions will I take that bring me joy? Satisfaction? The knowledge I am doing what matters, to me, today?” (How powerful it would have been to enter every day of my life like that!)
In our online discussion, we concluded that these terms are part of a continuum on which each person moves back and forth. Some days, it is all we can do to survive. We may not even feel we will. Other days, we feel like total badasses that cancer dare not challenge. Still other days, we embrace every minute, every hour, filling them awe and joy at the smallest thing– sun (this is the Pacific Northwest, after all), trees leafing out, a small child navigating a pushbike with glee, a fluffy dog happy to get a few pets as they greet you on the sidewalk.
And some days we feel unspeakable grief, over the person we likely won’t be again, over once-comfortable life perspectives that have taken a sharp turn into unexplored territory, over the ways people treat us that are different than ever before, over what will probably not be possible.
III.
This week, a friend asked me how I am. Tired, I told him truthfully, “I think I’m working out too hard.” There was a pause that lasted a beat too long. Then he said, “You’re working out?” What, I wanted to say, you think I’m lying on the couch? The thing is, he probably did. Lots of people have ideas of cancer that are out-of-date. They have unconscious beliefs or assumptions about what people with cancer can and can’t do. Having cancer means_____________. Fill in the blank: you’re weak, you can’t eat, you’re tired or have little energy, you’re in pain, you feel awful, you’ll lose your hair, you’ll die soon, etc. Some of these things may be true for some people with cancer, depending on the cancer they have, how it’s responding to treatment, how their treatment affects them. Or, none of these things may be true. But no matter what the assumption, it tells the person with cancer that they are less than what they once were. They are unidimensional now, a helpless, pitiful cancer patient.
Others make comments like, “You’re so brave!” “You’re an inspiration!” “You’re so strong!”, etc. Ummm, not really– mostly, just going along. (I’ve heard that some people with cancer reply, “Thanks. I’m sure you feel better now.” ZING– that may be true, but it seems cruel to me, unless the person is really a big dope head.) I suspect that characterizing someone as being superhuman makes the speaker feel safer. If they’re just a regular person, it must mean they won’t get cancer?
Then there are comments like, “I knew someone with lung cancer. He died.” (Luckily, I was in a good place that day. I responded, “Gee, thanks. I feel much better, now.” We went on to have a real conversation.)
Many of these comments are well-meaning. Sometimes, they are simply ways people defend themselves against their fears about cancer. Sometimes it’s an effort to express support. And sometimes, although some of the assumptions can be less evident, they are just as quietly isolating as my friend’s surprise that I was working out.
Here’s the thing, though. Everyone has a hand of cards they’ve been dealt. Everyone is strong– we have to be; life is hard. Everyone inspires others or is inspired in some way, every day. Every day, people choose to be brave in the face of something they feel afraid of or uncertain about. These things aren’t always dramatic; typically, daily victories are private, moments of inspiration or new perspectives triggered by others are often small.
So, how have you been brave today? When did someone today make a positive impact on you, in even the tiniest way? What one thing did you do to live fully, intentionally, today?
You see? Everyone has what it takes to encounter cancer in their lives.
Everybody knows how to play a good game of cards.
Infinity symbol by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
Cards Image : 955169 on Pixabay
Today’s moment of joy: K-Jann’s birthday cake. She’s seven. Can you guess her favorite colors?
