Laughing at Cancer. Ros Ben-Moshe
time to change the default language around cancer. Acknowledging someone has a cancer is far more empowering than saying she or he has all-consuming cancer. The same can be said about other conditions. Referring to a person ‘with a disability’ as opposed to ‘disabled’, or who ‘has diabetes’ instead of ‘diabetic’, emphasises and empowers the healthy part of that person. It focuses on the areas that are functioning well rather than the sickness. In my case, and all being well, this will be just a small malignant pocket within the bowel.
It’s an important clarification and one I wanted to impart to the boys. So this afternoon, having decided on my course of action, we held a family meeting. Seated around our dining table, I downplayed the potential seriousness of my situation, explaining, ‘I have a small polyp in my bowel and a few of the cells in and around it have some cancerous cells. It should be fine, but just to be on the safe side, I am having a larger operation. It’s a very big operation, and for a while it will appear like I’m sicker than I really am.’
We steer clear of statistics, allaying chaos and fear, navigating instead towards hope and stability. We sidestep the ‘what ifs’, deciding that if they ask, we will then respond. The subtext is very clear: ‘Mum does not have the Big C, a small part of her bowel does!’
The last thing I want and fear they will hear is, ‘Your mum’s got cancer.’ With the menacing grapevine dangerously encroach-ing we tell them people may jump to conclusions, not fully understanding my situation. One of my friends has already enthusiastically offered to go wig shopping with me, making my natural hair well and truly stand on end.
Containing the cancer to a specific body part enables the rest of my body to be in a state of well-being, optimising healing. Succumbing to an overall diagnosis of cancer dilutes the healing effect, weakening my whole self. The more harmonious and positive my state of mind, the better.
We will deal with the mountain if it presents itself; at the moment it’s a rather large and inconvenient molehill—to put it mildly. It’s breaking down the ‘too hard basket’ into wicker strands. It doesn’t diminish the huge ramification of a cancer diagnosis, which no semantics of language can change, but it does relieve some of the burdensome weight it necessarily brings. Surely it’s psychologically easier to recover from something specific rather than an all-pervasive everything?
I am not malignant; the polyp in and around one small area of my bowel is: 21mm to be precise! Thinking ahead I’m wondering if I will have to tick the ‘Have you had cancer?’ box for any future medical appointments or health insurance forms. For now that box categorically remains blank. I don’t want to be scarred for life with a full-blown cancer diagnosis.
Have you had a cancer diagnosis, or been given any other chronic illness label?
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Have you given any thought to how you refer to your illness?
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Can you think of another way to refer to your situation that empowers your body and your mind’s capacity to heal?
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14 June 2011
The Waiting Game
Agonising suspense, major denial, nervous twitches and butterflies are consuming and extending far beyond my stomach’s reach; the countdown to D-day has begun.
Should I think about it? Or not? Even if I were to avoid it, would I manage? I can’t control my anxious and wondering mind. I’m overwhelmed by everything I want to squeeze in beforehand: taking Rufus to the vet for his annual immunisations; stocking up on his gold-plated, new-age, sensitive-stomach dry food; getting my hair cut and my legs waxed. I’ve been told to strip my toenails of any polish as during anaesthesia they provide a visual indication of oxygen levels. What a lovely thought—not. Then there’s the pantry, fridge and freezer to stock up. It’s like my own personal preparatory Armageddon. Transferring CFO (Chief Financial Officer) duties to Danny, currently our family’s CNFO, Chief Non-Financial Officer. Teaching the children new cooking skills, whilst hurriedly imparting small snippets of motherly advice to enhance their independence and buoy their self-confidence. I also need time to soak up some rays of sunshine, absorb the green blades of grass and yellow wattle blazing in the winter sunshine, cuddle the dog and of course the kids! There are just not enough hours in the day.
Who to call? Who not to call? Who to text? Who not to text? Who to email, Skype, Facebook? I’m grateful I don’t have a Twitter account and LinkedIn is purely professional.
The thinking game. Everything relates to my perception of how I will be pre and post-op. And it’s not just short-term; I can’t refrain from future projections either.
Is it naïve to be excitedly optimistic about a future immeasurably rosier and healthier? My mood is vacillating like clouds drifting across a windswept sky. I am trying to halt negative thoughts, telling myself to put them on imaginary leaves flowing in the imaginary stream in my mind. It’s what my new visualisation CD tells me to do. But my mind keeps clogging up. I can’t even access a clear picture of the stream, as for the leaves … Are they autumnal or deciduous? Oh crikey, just stop! I wonder how many negative thoughts remain steadfastly clumped together and how many have escaped.
More than ever I recognise the truth in the statement: ‘It takes a lot of strength to be strong!’ As this episode fades into the next instalment of my life, I choose to be strong. I will be invincible. I will be so strong and mighty that, as I power down the pavement, people may point in my direction, and quietly murmur, ‘Wow she might not look Schwarzenegger-esque, but you can really feel her power.’
Strength may not be something we are born with, literally or figuratively, but it is certainly something we can build, grow, nurture and work towards. It is in these challenges (big, small, and often daunting) and through all those emotional workouts and years of tests, trials and tribulations that we grow the strongest.
From mini to mighty. From pastel to bold. From dependant to independent.
Night night. xx
What experiences have made you stronger?
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