[2021-05-02] Acceptance of my story
On my morning walk with my daughter, we talked briefly about my cancer. Melanie acknowledged that there were times when she worried about me, but for the most part she didn't. This was largely because I didn't appear worried.
And that's an accurate reflection of the attitude I project. I'm not putting up a facade to calm the people around me. On most days, I truly do not worry about my cancer.
That's not to say that I'm never bothered by my diagnosis and the related risks. In fact, I have shared some of my concerns here. But for the most part, I just get on with the business of living.
Part of what makes any conversation about cancer easier than it might otherwise be is that my family and I are not making it into a bogeyman. We are comfortable speaking about it in the same way we might discuss a less-threatening illness, such as heart disease or hyperthyroidism.
When I read stories about how cancer was discussed―or, more accurately, not discussed―in decades past, I am grateful to live at a time when such matters are talked about openly. In his autobiography, I Must Say, Martin Short describes how his mother's cancer was rarely talked about. In 1962, when Martin was 12, he noticed that his mom was becoming thinner, was not her effervescent self, and was burdened by something she wasn't telling him. He writes:
When she eventually leveled with me, she did so, oddly, on the phone. I had called her from school about something banal, like a delayed volleyball practice, and asked her how her doctor's visit had gone. She quietly said, "Well, darling, they've found a small little lump in my breast and they think it might be cancer."
"Cancer!" I blurted out.
"Shhh, Marty," she said. "Don't say it so loudly. This will be our secret."
It turns out that this wasn't his mom's only secret. Martin explains:
What I didn't know then was that Mom had breast cancer way back in 1957, and had undergone a mastectomy and radiation treatment. I don't know quite how this was kept from me, but in 1950s households it wasn't uncommon for illnesses, especially those with the word cancer in them, to be kept very hush-hush.
For me, being able to mention cancer and not have it derail a conversation is comforting. I'm glad that I don't have to tiptoe around the subject. I'm grateful that the people around me don't become upset or disturbed when the topic arises, for that allows me to be open and honest about my treatment and any concerns.
I also feel that writing about my journey in this blog has made me more comfortable talking about cancer. It has normalized the subject. Your acceptance of my story―as evidenced by your likes, shares and responses―makes me feel welcomed, cancer and all, and for that I am exceedingly thankful.
