I realize you can’t really equate having cancer with having a baby (although they both cause you to end up sleepless)… but stick with me before you dismiss this as just a bad analogy.
Breast cancer survivors compare stories like mothers compare stories of childbirth. Instead of centimeters dilated, we talk centimeters of tumors. If you have a rough delivery, you can’t help feeling a tiny bit jealous of women who pop out the baby with no drugs and go home from the hospital in their non-maternity jeans. If you’re a woman with advanced breast cancer facing months of torturous treatment, you feel the same way about women who have a tiny microscopic tumor and a little surgery and a 99% prognosis of survival.
Cancer isn’t one size fits all.
Not to deny that cancer is scary no matter what. Not to deny that all women with breast cancer are at risk. And not that you wish anyone ill; you just don’t want to be the one at the other end of the spectrum. Only someone has to be there— or it isn’t a spectrum.
When you draw the short straw, it helps to know someone who’s drawn a straw that’s even shorter—who’s here to tell about it.
My friend Laurie is convinced that’s what I’m meant to do…..to be here as living inspiration that I survived. And today is one of those times I think maybe Laurie is right.
Today I was going to meet Christine, a young mom beginning her cancer journey, who lives nearby and is the friend of a friend. We’ve talked and emailed but were both eager to meet in person. I was a couple minutes late for our lunch because I wanted to bring this.
These are from the collection of scarves I used to cover my baldness during chemo. As I took them out I could almost forget their original purpose. The blast of color brightened the day—as color always does. Color in any shape, form or combination inspires me— and helps me see the world in a more beautiful way.
I didn’t realize how appropriate that would be at lunch.
Like me, Christine drew a shorter straw. We’re amazed at how many aspects of our stories are exactly the same. I also feel the differences. I never let V or my kids see me when I was completely bald—- and I almost gasp when Christine casually pulls off her own scarf at the restaurant and tries on one of mine.
Two months into cancer, Christine is bald—and she is beautiful. I don’t know if I’m reacting to her features or the sweetness of her smile or the serenity of her soul.
Waiting when I get home is an email from another sorority sister with a shorter straw. Also a young mother, about Christine’s age, Angela is a soldier stationed overseas, a friend of a friend. She’s ahead of Christine by a year—a year filled with everything Christine is facing right now. Ironic that part of Angela’s email expressed something Christine and I discussed; something I urge all cancer patients: trust your own gut. With Angela’s gracious permission, I’m posting part of her email:
I have tried to be my own best advocate throughout this ordeal and I take great pride in being unafraid to express my concerns and desires to my medical team…after all, what’s the worst thing that can happen? I am willing to do all that I can to ensure the worst does not happen and if it does, it will not be because I was afraid to ask questions or challenge my medical team. … Part of the battle is an emotional/mental battle and I know that there will “battles” that I will not always win BUT I WILL WIN THE WAR.
Two women warriors—-across thousands of miles, across the table at lunch—I take in their strength, I take in their spirit. And I think Laurie is wrong. I’m not here to inspire them; they’re meant to inspire me.
Denys says
Beautiful. Poignant and powerful. When we give, we receive unimaginable gifts. Sharing your experience and counsel certainly is meant to be your path.
manuel alvarez sr says
I can not figure out from where you have your strengh. I always thought you were very delicate and fragile. But God always give you a helping hand in coping with troubles. I know that, 6 years ago my wife when thru a treatment for Hepatitis C, and these were the worst 52 weeks in my life. At the end payout. She has been free of Hepatitis C,for 5 years, only 20 per cent of treated people is cured. She also talk to people, with that treatment, we have to. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel
Darryle Pollack says
Thank you both for your comments and sensitivity.
Manny, really I have no particular strength–like all of us, at times of need we tap into strengths we never knew we had—and you surely have personal experience with that too. I guess some of us just have to dig deeper down but I think the strength we need–or the light at the end of the tunnel–is always there for us to discover.
And Denys of course you’re right about giving–I’m pretty sure that one of the ways we find our own strength is to forget about ourselves sometimes and look outside to give to someone else. Definitely this is one of the richest parts of any life available to anyone.
Darryle Pollack says
Also want to say I didn’t mean to say that all women with more advanced breast cancer suffer more, or are jealous of women with lesser amounts of disease. Cancer is cancer and it’s hideous no matter what. And of course we all don’t react the same way.
There are people who are devastated by a diagnosis of cancer no matter how positive the prognosis—and there are also people with terminal cancer who never ask “why me” and feel “jealous” of others. People who are far more evolved than I am.
I am just expressing how it felt for ME. By comparison with most women, I had challenging times with cancer AND with childbirth—and I definitely felt envious/resentful about people who didn’t have to suffer. Then again, this isn’t such surprising behavior from someone who tends to be a drama queen.
Bob Beers says
I read this with genuine awe. It is a strength I think none of us know whether we have until someone in a long white coat gives us the news. What I know is some of your story and it truly
inspires. My own white coat moments have been much less dire. But fear comes in all sizes.
So I will always store some of your approaches in my solace bank.
I recently read a bio of WC Fields. He was terminally ill in the hospital and a friend comes to visit and is shocked to see him reading the Bible. He ask why.
WC: ‘Just checking for loopholes.’
Darryle Pollack says
Love that WC Fields line, you always have the perfect story or quote for the moment—and best are your own words which inspire me every time I read anything u write.
vicki mcmillan says
My eyes fill with tears when I read your post…one because I am soooooo thankful that you are out there supporting my friend like no one else can..and because you are so honest and real and poignant..and I cry because I am sad that these twists and turns in life are so daunting and unexpected and in the end I have some joy because there are woman like you who can find strength, camaraderie and a smile in this seemingly dark and lonely place. Although I have never met you…for real..I thank you..every day I thank you.
Darryle Pollack says
Vicki, my eyes filled with tears too, reading your comment. What a wonderful friend you are–and how lucky Christine is to have you care so much. She’s told me how blessed she feels to have an incredibly supportive group of friends and family around her. Thanks to your comment I can see firsthand what she means. All I can really provide is someone who’s been there and understands—A friend like you is there all the time with what she needs most—-constant love and support. And I thank you for giving that.