Sometimes I tempt myself with the convenient fiction that a witty t-shirt would make breaking the news easier, simpler, plus facile.It's not that I'm embarrassed or ashamed to tell anyone. Sometimes I've worried about the effects of the news on certain recipients - my parents, for example, whom I held off telling as long as I could. Sometimes - as with my potential roommates here in SF - I selfishly worried the knowledge might nullify the pending transaction (as it indeed did, in some cases). And sometimes I've shrunk from the instant notoriety of being added to a dozen prayer lists around the world.
Now most of those closest to me know - friends, family, colleagues. But sometimes I still have to drop the C word to new people I meet, inevitably cracking a glacial crevasse in the pleasant conversation.
At its heart, I don't want the diagnosis to define me. I cling to the quintessentially American ideal: judge me by my actions; not by my parents, my family name, my hometown, my college, my degree, my church, the wealth or poverty of my background, my appearance, ethnicity, gender, or any of a hundred other categories that divide and define us. Judge me by how I live my life.
(I have always thought it curious that Americans find sola gratia so tempting, given the American preoccupation with self-definition through one's actions. Perhaps it is that obsessive focus on works which reveals to us the ultimate insufficiency of our actions in the face of divine sacrifice - or perhaps our frustration at consistently imperfect actions bolsters our hope that God can help us faithfully live out our idealistic natures in demonstrable ways. But I digress.)
It is the duty of men to judge men only by their actions.
So how do I tell these folks I meet that I have cancer? Quickly, bluntly, and honestly, tossing off a joke into the awkward silence, and moving on.
6 comments:
This is off-topic, but I just rented out my house this afternoon! And, I signed the lease on an apartment here in SF - I'll be moving in next week sometime.
Congrats, V. Now you can start doing your work!
When I was sick, I was always heartened by the people who I hadn't told, and sometimes didn't know, who approached ME and shared their stories with me.
Carol - this made me smile - I sat in front of two folks on a shuttle bus from work the other day...they were talking down their co-worker for being off work for several months ("He's just milking that cancer thing for all it's worth...He's not really that sick"). I gently inserted myself into the conversation...it was a good 10 or 15 minutes before I revealed that I'd just been diagnosed and was about to undergo cancer treatment.
They were, needless to say, a wee bit embarrassed.
V--
You were nicer to them than I might have been. (Or at least in my imagination I would have ranted at them.)
Afterall, anyone in their right mind knows you don't 'milk cancer.' You milk a cow. You milk a cold. You milk a bad day.
Those people who were ranting about their coworker hasn't walked a mile in that person's shoes.
I try to not bog down the conversation about the people who I know who have fought cancer. (One because I'm really superstitious and two because I don't think you would find it comforting.)
That said...I just would add that the people who I know who went through the treatments are the bravest, strongest, most loving, and appreciative (of life) people I know.
I think the people on the bus who were nasty because they've never bother to learn what their coworker was facing. But I guarantee you that the coworker probably had much more compassion and sympathy for them.
PS. Excuse grammar and such...I"m a zombie right now.
Here is a Web page full of items with "Cancer Sucks" on them.
http://www.choosehope.com/commerce/catalog.jsp?catId=29
I think those two words pretty much sum it all up. I am sorry you have to fight the battle, but you will win!
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