Cancer is a Strange Thief

It both steals and gives

Years ago, I was struggling with a massive keloid (that’s nasty scar in medical-speak) on my chest. It was a parting gift, the gift that kept giving, from a chest tube that was used to help save my life when my lights were nearly snuffed out from a car accident when I was 17.

By the time I was in my 30s, this puppy went from a one-inch faded line to over 8 inches of painful, ropey scar tissue. If you’re a keloid former, you know what I’m talking about.

I sought help from dermatologists and naturopaths. I used silicone dressings. Salves. I even had the damn thing removed surgically a few times.

It was after the second scar excision that I found myself in the oncology department of the local hospital. This puppy was getting irradiated.

The idea was to remove the scar and then zap it with 5 days of “light radiation.”

I was told it was safe and my best hope for keeping the scar from returning. The radiation was only targeting the skin surface, not like what a cancer patient receives, I was assured.

So here I am. In a waiting room full of cancer patients, all waiting to be called back for their treatment. I am fucking terrified just being in the same room as them.

When I am finally placed in the exam room to see the doctor, I see a framed print of a declaration: What Cancer Can’t Steal.

Ah. Positivity bullshit, my bad angel spoke up. La-la-la-la, I can’t HEAR you said the good angel. She’s usually more upbeat but wasn’t quite certain what to make of this.

I glanced through the list, giving thanks I wasn’t one of those cancer patients. I was just there for a silly ole scar.

It is this scene that came back to me, many years later when I learned this boob had more than scarring issues.

Did that radiation trigger something on a cellular level that would later cause cancer?

I don’t know. I just.don’t.know.

But I do know, I am no longer a fan of regular dental x-rays. Go on, tell me the radiation amount is what I could get on a sunny day outside.

Yeah, whatever. No thanks.

But I digress.

One thing I DO know is that declaration in the oncology office has also revisited my thoughts. I did a brief search to see if I could find it but decided, hell, I can write my own declaration.

But first, I want to address this truth: Cancer is a thief.

It stole my sister at a young age. Ended the life of a dear friend last year.

It robbed me of the plans I had. Demanded payment from my breasts. Incurred thousands of dollars, into six-figure land, of medical expenses. Took away my livelihood for over a year.

It robbed me of a sense of security, although now I understand any sense of security is a fleeting illusion.

I could go on and on. And this is the part, I suppose, where I declare:

FUCK CANCER!

But I won’t. First, because I don’t want to be in an adversarial relationship with my body. And I’m not going to parse out something similar to the Christian bullshit saying about “hate the sin, love the sinner” ie, “hate the tumor, love the body.”

My favorite Franciscan teacher, Richard Rohr, continues to teach me it alllllllll belongs. Every last bit of it. The good and the bad together. Sorrow and joy. Unrest and peace

The Persian poet Rumi, reminds us to “welcome and entertain them all” in his poem, Houseguest.

To war against what is, will rob us as well. It’s a tricky dance between acceptance and surrender versus trying to control outcomes and the natural rage that bubbles when life seems to turn to shit.

Okay. Enough blither blather preamble to the point I wish to make. And this is: Cancer also brings gifts.

And I’m not even using the sarcastic font there.

I often tell newly diagnosed patients that to embark on a cancer journey is very Dickinsonian. As in “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen. We’re about to embark on the journey you never wanted to take. The one that you saw others take and you whispered a silent prayer of thanks, I am so glad it’s not me. Forthwith, I am eating more kale.

Here are some lessons I am learning.

First, there are healing angels all around. Starting with the nurses and doctors committed to oncology. When I consider the years of training and sacrifice, they made so they can help people blows my mind.

This also includes everyone working in healthcare. From the person pushing the mop to the young gal answering the phone. Their presence is required for the entire system to function well. (Just let your trash build up for a few weeks if you need help to let that sink in.)

Second, a cancer diagnosis reveals the depth and health of friendships. I was told by another cancer survivor that it would surprise me at those who rallied and those who, well, could not. Her words were accurate.

I found myself blown away by loving strangers sending cards, meals, and money. STRANGERS, people. People I didn’t know. It literally sustained me.

I don’t write a lot about my sweetie as he prefers to keep a low profile on the net, but it was during this time he packed up his car and drove 2,000 miles to be with me through surgery and chemo.

I suggested that he might want to flee in the other direction when I got diagnosed but he would have none of it. “If I’m running, it’s to you,” he said.

I was blown away.

The “thoughts and prayers” crowd was certainly there, too. I’ve learned to respect that they too bring a gift. The discomfort of dealing with a loved ones’ serious diagnosis is real. Some must simply must distance themselves. This can be especially difficult when you thought there would be more support from them. But it also helps me to see this tendency in myself.

If that isn’t a big ole slab of humble pie, I don’t know what is.

On a deeper level, some women find their marriages ending as a result of their diagnosis. Yeah, a cancer diagnosis can cause a stress fracture to split wide open.

While there are many more valuable gifts and lessons from cancer, I’ll leave with this one.

Cancer has helped me to love more deeply and to receive love. My pink sisters teach me this every day.

A few of the breast cancer groups I am part of are a group of women who’ve bonded over cancer. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, rich, poor, liberal, conservative, and any other opposite you can think of.

We are real and raw with each other. You can bear your scars (literally) and receive love and encouragement. We send cards when someone needs an extra serving. We check in with each other. We share tricks of how to navigate those damn drain tubes after surgery. We discuss the anguish of hair loss… except for those menopausal whiskers, that is. Gallows humor- Check! Because sometimes things are so damn awful all you can do is find the dark humor.

When a sister passes, we cry together and honor their memory.

This is humanity at its best. It challenges me to bring the light and love beyond my breast cancer sphere because this is really what the human experience should be like: love, support, empathy, encouragement.

Cancer is strange. It steals. It gives. It’s brutal. It’s beautiful.

It’s brutiful.

Thanks so much for reading. You can find me around the internet at www.theresawinn.com, on Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram. If you’d like to support my writing in a small way, feel free to contribute to my wishlist.