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somehow I’m the one who has to stop
to sit on some random’s doorstep on my
way to work because I can’t breathe.
I’ve even started to resent my own
relatives. Why? Because literally no other
person in my family has needed chemo.
Is that horrible? It’s totally horrible. But
everyone else gets to go to drunk brunch
and run 5km while I sit in my bed and
cry over my numb fingers. Everyone else
gets to have sex and pop out tiny babies
in the old-school way while I have to give
myself shots in the leg so I can harvest
eggs and freeze them before the chemo
makes me infertile. (And probably have
to fork out a couple of thousand dollars
to do so, because God forbid the priciest
health insurance plan out there actually
covers anything.) Everyone else gets to be
normal, while I’m trying to figure out a
discreet way to take off my wig in the
restaurant because it feels like it’s actually
squeezing my brains out of my head.And yes, I can see you, total
strangers who are gawking at my naked
head. Have you never seen a scalp? Bruce
Willis has been around since the time of
the dinosaurs. Either avert your eyes or
tell me you loved me in Twelve Monkeys.
I get that people freak out, even my
friends on occasion. But if cancer makes
you feel so uncomfortable that you can’t
even send me a “Hi, how are you?” text,
then get over it. My cancer is very busy
right now making me uncomfortable and
can’t seem to pencil you in today. And
whatever you do, please don’t tell me
I just need to stay positive. Are you anoncologist? Do you have a file of clinical
results to show me that demonstrate the
amazing power of positive thinking to
shrink tumours? No? You don’t have a
medical degree? Then just shut up and
leave me alone.
Stuart Scott, the late ESPN anchor
who had cancer for seven years, said,
“You beat cancer by how you live, why
you live and the manner in which you
live.” I really hope this isn’t true or else
I’m most definitely losing. I am not carpe
diem-ing. I am up to no good. I watch
Netflix all day and try not to spill milk
in my bed while I eat bowl after bowl of
Special K. Sometimes, I only answer the
phone for Tim, just to ask again if he’ll
pull an A Walk to Remember if it comes
to that. (“It won’t,” he always says. “And,
sweetie, that is a terrible movie.”)
So no, I am not “surviving” cancer
or “battling” cancer or going on some
dumbass “cancer journey”. My life is just
paused. Honestly, I’m not living at all
right now, because a life in which I’m
tethered to an IV machine for 10 hours
straight at a time is not mine. It belongs
to cancer. I’m in a cancer prison, and I
am chemo’s bitch.
There is a silver lining, small but
still beautiful: after sitting with me in a
windowless room for three hours while
I had carcinogen pumped into my body,
my best friend quit smoking.Natalie Portman,
is that you?Some friends have been amazing,
and we’re closer for it. Others have
been MIA, and they’ll be seated at
the kids’ table at my wedding and
wiping juice off their formal wear.
If you have a friend, relative or
co-worker who gets sick, then say
something. Here’s what I suggest...WHAT TO SAY
TO YOUR
CANCER FRIEND
PHO
TO
GR
APH
Y BY EL
IZA
BET
H GR
IFF
IN. MA
KEUP BY MARY GUTHRI
E/A
BTPDO SAY
“Wow. That sucks.”
It does. A lot.
Let’s commiserate over cider!DON’T SAY
“I’m sorry.”
I never know how to reply, and end
up reassuring people my cancer is
not their fault. Also, it’s the number
one way to bring down the vibe.DO ASK
“Have I told you about the
three guys I’m dating?”
I think about cancer 24/7.
Distract me!DON’T SAY
“My boyfriend’s brother’s
cat’s aunt has pancreatic
cancer, so...”
Is this supposed to be comforting?
Unless your boyfriend’s brother’s
cat’s aunt is actually a 25-year-old
with hepatoblastoma, please refrain.DON’T ASK
“What do you need?”
This is thoughtful but vague.
I don’t even know what I need,
and I don’t want to ask too
much. Your liver, I guess?DO ASK
“Want me to drop off
some groceries?”
I’ll never ask for help with food,
laundry or taking me to the doctor- I feel like a burden. #