CANCER SURVIVOR ESSAY STRUGGLE

 

 

Stories about a cancer survivor are an inspiration to all cancer survivors. Even a cancer survivor essay about the trauma of being a cancer survivor holds important hope.

 

Pam Parker gets into it with a cancer survivor story in the Chicago Tribune.

 

It’s not pretty and sweet and all dolled up to make the reader feel better. But it’s not self pity compounded by guilt either.

 

Or maybe a little bit?

 

We survivors are supposed to be happy and grateful, to embrace our second chance at life. Many survivors can point to decidedly good changes in their lives and outlooks since staring down that black tunnel called cancer. But that’s not how the story ends for some of us.

 

Some of us, or just Pam Parker. I’d go with more than one and less than everyone. The whole business of cancer treatment is enough to make anyone scream.

 

At first you’re the FNG in one clinic, then another, until you cycle out with a clean bill of health. Cancer free and cancer clear is the goal, but then there’s the tag along stuff.

 

Studies as far back as the mid-1990s were reporting depression and anxiety issues in breast-cancer survivors. The National Cancer Institute’s Annual Plan and Budget Proposal for 2019 lists the challenges that cancer survivors face, including risk of recurrence, increased risk of second primary cancer, reduced quality of life, economic burden and treatment side effects. But also on the list: “emotional distress (depression, anxiety, uncertainty, altered body image, survivor’s guilt).”

 

Cancer survivor loads up on the uncertainty and doom and the sort of emotions that may need a talking doctor after the cancer doctors finish. Talking it out with anyone else might send them into a tailspin of their own.

 

One way to avoid the complete smack down of cancer treatment is finding empathy with the staff who checks you in, the techs who administer the cancer killing tools, and other patients in the waiting room.

 

You’re only the f—ing new guy a short time, the time it takes for another new guy to show up in the same treatment time slot. After that you’re just another guy, or gal. While you’ve still got the new shine gleaming off you, consider the people on staff who see people like you every day.

 

I know the big cancer rule: Every body is different and everyone responds differently. Now you know the big rule, but it’s different with the front desk staff in a treatment center. You’re no different to them then the hundreds of others they see every day.

 

You are a cancer patient and they aren’t. That’s got to wear them down, so why not shine a beacon of hope, or at least a key chain flashlight of hope. Any light in the darkness is welcome. Just fumbling around for the key chain sends a good message.

 

Something was very wrong in my brain. I made an appointment with my internist to get a referral to a psychiatrist.

At my doctor’s office, I started, with tears, to explain my sadness. I should probably see a psychiatrist, I said. He leaned forward, and his dark eyes looked almost angry. I braced myself for an incoming lecture about how lucky I was, how I had no right to my sadness.

Instead, he was kind. “Didn’t anyone tell you how common this is for cancer survivors?” And I breathed easier. He wasn’t angry with me, but with my caregivers. In his mind, someone should have told me to be watchful for depression as a possible after-effect.

 

How big a list do you want of ‘things someone should tell you about being a cancer survivor.’

 

The book I am writing, more than a memoir but less than a history lesson, will answer a few age old questions, as well as a few new one. ‘Licking Cancer In The Beaver State’ is a no holds barred look at the modern cancer treatment process in 2017.

 

Is it possible to balance anti-nausea and constipation meds?

 

Will you feel like you’ve got a bag of marbles ruining your rectum?

 

How will you feel when old friends see you with the same expression you’ve had when you thought a stranger was someone you knew?

 

Cancer did have positive effects on my life. My diagnosis changed my attitude about my writing. Before, I was afraid to submit my work. I created stories and essays but couldn’t muster the courage to put them out in the world. I was afraid of rejection. Cancer slapped me in the face — “You were afraid of a rejection letter from an editor?! Fear something worth fearing!”

 

Pam Parker winds her cancer survivor essay up on a positive note. For that I’m thankful.

 

Yes, I’m lucky and blessed, and I know it. But the teams and the support systems nearly vanish once you hear “Your cancer is gone.” Cancer patients need to know that there are treatments and medications to fight cancer. And survivors need to know that there are also treatments and medications to fight depression. There are ways to be as happy as everyone thinks you already are. I’m living proof.

 

I like living proof. I hope Pam gets a smile with Jennifer.