[2023-07-04] Reporter, columnist, blogger, writer

When I studied journalism at Carleton University, I learned that the reporter is not part of the story. They are a neutral conveyor of facts and perspectives, endeavouring to present all sides of an issue. My recollection was borne out by a definition from the Boston Globe:

A REPORTER gathers facts and information on an event of public interest and then presents them in a readable style to inform the reader. The reporter is supposed to provide objective observation about events that editors deem newsworthy.

Blogging wasn't a thing when I studied journalism in the mid-'80s. The closest journalistic equivalent would be the columnist. As per the Boston Globe,

A COLUMNIST gives opinions, usually his or her own. A columnist is expected to gather accurate information, just as a reporter does, and then comment on that information. A columnist has more latitude and license than a reporter and is not constrained by the rule of impartiality that governs news writing.

Perhaps the difference between a blogger and a columnist is that the blogger is often reporting their own information. And unlike the reporter, the blogger is often an integral part of the story.

I thought about this today as I contemplated the reporting I've been doing in advance of my upcoming bilateral mastectomy. As I head into my third surgery in less than three years, I find myself embodying all three roles: reporter, columnist and blogger.

Today's report includes a summary of a conversation with a pre-op nurse this morning. She asked a bunch of health history questions, such as previous operations, reactions to anesthesia, allergies, diseases, medications. And she explained the pre-op procedure:
  • No Advil or Aleve seven days before surgery (fortunately I hadn't taken any).
  • Nothing to eat after midnight the day of the surgery.
  • Three small cans of ginger ale consumed the afternoon and evening before surgery. One small can of ginger ale consumed the morning of the surgery, stopping 90 minutes before my arrival time. (As noted in MyChart, "Clear fluids make you feel well before surgery and may help speed up your recovery.")
  • Take olaparib (my anti-ovarian cancer drug) as usual, but hold my B12 and D3 supplements.
  • Bring my health card and something to read to pass the time (can be a cell phone).
In addition to the chat with the nurse, I received this same information in MyChart. It helps to have a conversation with a person and to have the details provided in written form, as I was taking notes in a little notepad while on my morning walk.

My role as reporter, columnist and blogger reminds me of something May Sarton wrote in her book Journal of a Solitude, which I've quoted before:

My own belief is that one regards oneself, if one is a serious writer, as an instrument for experiencing. Life—all of it—flows through this instrument and is distilled through it into works of art. How one lives as a private person is intimately bound into the work. And at some point I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some imaginary reader or relative or friend, and come out with personal truth. If we are to understand the human condition, and if we are to accept ourselves in all the complexity, self-doubt, extravagance of feeling, guilt, joy, the slow freeing of the self to its full capacity for action and creation, both as human being and as artist, we have to know all we can about each other, and we have to be willing to go naked.

The analogy of going naked feels appropriate. The reporter—neutral and separate from the story—is the least naked. The columnist—opinionated but often commenting on matters external to their lives—is more naked than the reporter but less naked than the blogger. The blogger—if sharing their truth, as Sarton says—is the most naked, revealing details of their lives and allowing their individual story to be of universal significance. As Sarton also wrote in Journal of a Solitude:

"Not everyone can or will do that—give his specific fears and desires a chance to be of universal significance." To do this takes a curious combination of humility, excruciating honesty, and (there's the rub) a sense of destiny or of identity. One must believe that private dilemmas are, if deeply examined, universal, and so, if expressed, have a human value beyond the private, and one must also believe in the vehicle for expressing them, in the talent.

As I have shared my story publicly, people have shared theirs with me privately. Several women have written to say that they (or a relative) made the same decision as I am making and that they don't regret it for a moment. Others have written to say that they had the same surgeon as I, and that I am in good hands. Still others have said that they are in the queue for the same surgery I am about to have. I have taken immense comfort from those who have gone before me, from those who have faced (and conquered) something different but equally challenging, and from those who simply write, call or cross the street to wish me well. I hope that my reporting, commenting and blogging on my experience are as helpful to others as others' comments have been to me.

I will continue to share my experience with this latest endeavour to avoid disease and ensure health. I'm planning to publish a post on the day of my surgery, even if it's just to say, as I did the day of my ovarian cancer operation: "Surgery was a success. Sleeping well. Felt all your support. More to follow tomorrow."