the media

May 22, 2006

Images of cancer survivors in the media - tragic hero, inspirational mentor, bald, runner of marathons.

There's more unpalatable stuff to the story. Duh.

I'm just supposed to be grateful to be alive, right?

And just who are you to tell me what I should be grateful for?

Since Felicity Huffman gave Lesley Stahl her deservedly lauded 2 cents on the you must love motherhood 24/7 ridiculousness, I'm going to put the cancer survival must equal eternal gratitude absurdity to rest as well.

Okay, done - I can check that off my list of things to do.

Clip courtesy of Salon.com.
Just click on it and play the ad - it'll take two seconds and won't hurt a bit.

You just want me to be like who I was.

Well I fucking can't. So stop expecting it.
I'm tired enough for chrissakes without the added pressure.

How to cope with 15 years of abandonment by the publicly funded Paediatric Oncology Follow up Program that was down the hall the whole time

I like lists. In chronologically descending order:

1. engage in some soft alcoholism (meaning: if you lean toward hard liquor, make it something fruity)
2. denial
3. submit to their ridiculous and continual insistences that you're fine, there's nothing wrong with you, and if there is, well it's probably 'psychiatric' and no concern of theirs, because it wouldn't do anything for their fundraising initiatives given that you're not bald anymore (Mar 1, 2006 correction: I'm in the adult system: Fundraising? What fundraising?)
   
4. give the psychiatric route a shot, and while you're there, get the full-on psych experience of having your life ruined for years in a plethora of demented ways. to get the authentically fucked up experience, your care must be delivered in either a) a soft spoken tone of voice or b) a stern (but fatherly) tone of voice. nod, listen, then drink in the infantilization of your 'self'.
   
5. completely dissociate yourself from bodily sensations, so that you can cope with the whale-swallowing psychic suffering by living in a self-induced stasis, and then try to pretend like you're not stumbling around this earth in abject confusion&revulsion and bouncing off other people like they're the personification of a perfectly made bed. [that's right - for me leaving my house feels as it would for you to leap into the pages of Martha Stewart Living.]
   
6. reconnect with said abandoned bodily sensations, and enjoy the freaky experience for as long as humanly possible
   
7. read A Heart Breaking Work of Staggering Genius, and then follow that with a carefully selected diet of McSweeney's, in order to better develop your inherent (but almost lost) sardonic sense of humour
8. hire a fucking good lawyer
9. hope that someday you'll be able to read McSweeney's longer than 30 seconds at a go
   
10. cut yourself slack as often as required
11. schedule regular times to sadly shake your head at the ignorance of healthy people who mean well, but don't know what the fuck they're talking about
12. read good books that have useful info, like After Cancer by Wendy Schlessel Harpham
13. kiss your cat
14. grieve often and large those chunks of time spent being hopelessly naive
    

16 and a half years and counting

I had cancer in 1989 for a couple of months.
Then I had chemo for a couple of years. So here I am, still breathing
(if nothing else).

My life post-cancer has been interesting.

So I thought I'd start blogging about it.
The experience did quite a number on me.

It fucking sucked.
(There will be no clouds or bubbles or sermons on being positive on this blog).