Here are some insights to celebrate my upcoming 2 year recovery from Oropharyngeal Cancer.
1. When I say, “I’m fine,” I’m lying. Why? Because I can’t stand to explain what I’m going through one more time. Because every time I do, I remind myself of the details.
No, I’m not okay. I’m different. My current different may be less bad than when I was in treatment or immediately after treatment. But that does not mean I’m okay. In order to kill my cancer, they nearly killed me. I may be okay, eventually. Or I may just have to get used to my “new normal.” (I hate that phrase!) One thing I will never be is, “who I was before.” I’m going to have to get used to that. I may have been cured of the cancer but I still have the HPV+ virus that gave me cancer. And if my immune system crashes again the cancer will most likely return. That's just how it works.
2. When you ask me if I’m afraid and I say, “no,” I’m lying. It's always on my mind that it might return.
3. When you ask, “What can I do to help?” it makes me want to scream. I am facing the most physically, psychologically, and emotionally trying ordeal of my life. Don’t make me evaluate your willingness or ability to do any of the 1,001 things on my To Do list. Make a specific offer of something you’re already willing and able to do to help. “Can I wash your car?” "Can I walk the dogs?" “Can I do your laundry?” Or, just show up and do something. I promise, if I look out the window and see you mowing my lawn, I will not call the police.
4. If you offer to help, and I accept your offer, do what you say you will do. Be the stability that I’m having a really hard time finding right now. My treatment may not be as effective as I had hoped. My side effects may be worse than I was told. My recovery may take longer than I was promised. Remember, the real pain begins after treatment ends.
5. Yes, someone else has told me about your herbal tea, essential oil, eye of newt, holistic lip balm that will magically cure my cancer in one application. But since my care team has never heard of it and they cure people with cancer every day, I’m going to sincerely thank you for your compassion while ignoring your advice, however heartfelt it may be. If you persist in promoting “alternative cures,” I may also block you on social media and even in real life.
6. Yes, I’m lonely. Cancer is not just a disease, it’s a place. Once you get here, you can never go back. It’s lonely here. And often, being alone makes it even scarier. Just come sit with me. You do NOT have to say the right thing. You don’t have to say ANYthing. Just being with me matters.
On the flip side of that coin, while I am lonely, sometimes I also need to be alone. Because, sometimes, I just need to be able to think, or to kick a piece of furniture, or to punch a wall. Please don’t be offended. It’s not you, it’s me.
Yes, it’s a paradox. If you want to know whether I need you, or need to be alone, you’ll just have to work up the courage to ask.
7. Unless you have had cancer – and in many cases, unless you have had the same cancer as the survivor you’re talking to – no, you do not understand. Please stop saying that you do. It hurts. It also hurts when you question my symptoms or side effects. Stop trying to make cancer make sense. Stop trying to make cancer treatment make sense. Stop trying to make the side effects of cancer treatment make sense. We’re talking about cancer. None of it makes sense.
8. So much I don’t know. I don’t know if my cancer will return, though I’ve read every study ever done about my particular cancer and can quote all the relevant statistics. I don’t know if my side effects are permanent or temporary. I don’t know if my side effects will get better or worse. I don’t know if my “new normal” will be enjoyable, just bearable, or intolerable. I just don’t know.
9. But, I’m okay with not knowing. Why? Because regardless of what other adversity I have faced in my life, nothing – I mean nothing – has brought me more strength and belief in myself more than being diagnosed with, undergoing treatment for, and surviving cancer. I learned that I am a warrior and have the armour to prove it. My radiation mask hangs on my wall as a reminder of the inner strength I found that I didn't know I had - to endure this torture.
10. My name is Linda Corley and I am a cancer survivor.
