The Good Cancer Survivor
In September 2015, three weeks after I got engaged, I went to the doctor with a pain in my chest that had been there for a couple of days. Despite being pretty anxious about my health in general, I didn’t expect anything to be actually wrong, I mean, not really. I thought I would be told it was muscle pain and sent on my way patting my own back that I had been vigilant. What actually happened was quite, quite different. I was sent straight into A&E from the doctor’s office and after completing a 24 hour stint which included several ECGs, blood thinners in case it was a clot and a scan, I was told I was grand and sent home only to be called back in 12 hours later. There was a ten inch tumour in my chest that the first radiologist that had looked at my scan hadn’t noticed but the second one that looked at it managed to catch. Give that second radiologist a can of coke!
A terrifying biopsy (“So I’m just going to stick this giant needle through your chest, quite close to your heart and lungs. There’s a chance I might puncture them and cause a haemorrhage. I probably won’t but if you could just sign this waiver form?”) and a week’s wait later, I was told I had Hodgkins Lymphoma.
Now, in the aftermath of it all, one question I get constantly is “So, do you have a new lease of life now? A new perspective?” I know exactly what people mean by this – they mean “Are you jumping out of planes? Climbing Mount Everest? Have you achieved every life goal you ever had because of your new found drive and passion for life?” People are only dying to know that I’m somehow a better person after all of this, that actually Moira, I’m GLAD this happened to me because I wasn’t really living before and now I can REALLY live life to the full (WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? Answers on a postcard, please.)
People are desperate to project their idea of the “good cancer survivor” onto me. And I don’t really blame them. Cancer is a terrifying concept – you can do everything right and still get it, so people want reassurance that should it happen to them it would somehow be a positive experience. Well sorry Moira, I’m not glad that this incredibly traumatic thing happened to me and I’m not a better person than I was. I’m actually just trying to claw my way back to some sense of normality even though nothing will ever be normal again.
I was an even less inspiring cancer patient than I am a survivor. I heard the word “brave” a lot but it's not about bravery. The fact that I'm in remission is nothing to do with me, it is completely down to the doctors and nurses. All I did was show up - even though the morning before every chemo I genuinely considered just not going. But I had no choice. I had to do the thing that might kill me if I wanted to get rid of the thing that definitely would kill me. I was so anxious after my first chemo that two days later I had my first ever panic attack. I had no idea what was happening. I thought something had gone badly wrong and ended up back in hospital overnight. I was subsequently put on three Xanax a day in addition to the tens of other tablets I had to take daily. I had to unfollow every news site on all social media cos I literally could not deal with any more bad things. I could only consume good news and nice, safe content. I returned to books and films that I loved as a kid because reading Harry Potter and binge watching Saved by the Bell in its entirety made me feel briefly safe. (I KNOW J.K Rowling is problematic but look, I saw my situation reflected in Harry’s – he had to do things he was terrified of and he had no choice about it.)
After a couple of treatments, it transpired that my immune system was being taken down more than it should be by the chemo. A certain type of white blood cell, called a neutrophil, essential for your immune system was not reacting well. My very basic understanding of it is that neutrophils are measured on a scale of one to ten. Your Average Healthy Joe’s neutrophils are somewhere around 10. Chemo usually takes them down to around 3. Mine were at 0.1. It’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it just how terrifying it is to know that your immune system isn’t working properly and that even the good bacteria in your body can turn into very bad bacteria in a matter of seconds. I was told to avoid anywhere crowded, stay away from kids and if I felt in any way unwell or had a temperature I had to ring the hospital immediately. I didn’t deal well with this. I refused to go anywhere that might be even a little bit crowded. On the rare occasions that my fiancé or my mum did convince me to go out somewhere, I had a lot of conditions. It had to be early in the morning on a weekday and somewhere I knew wouldn’t be too crowded. I would spend the entire time on high alert for sneezers or coughers and if anyone dared to as much as clear their throat near me I got as far away from them as possible. I became obsessed with hand sanitizer and had strict rules around its usage for both myself and anyone who crossed my door. I wore a surgical mask when there was a big group of family in my parent’s house on Christmas day. I was constantly, constantly terrified.
And the terror doesn’t just go away once you hear the word “remission”. No jumping out of planes for me, Moira. In the months after I finished chemo I still took my temperature twice a day. More sometimes. I still excessively used hand sanitizer. I still had panic attacks that would come in the form of an overwhelming feeling that everything was about to go wrong again. I had planned to have a fuck cancer party as soon as I got the all clear but I couldn’t bring myself to do it because everything still felt a bit too precarious. The first time I got a cold and a temperature about six months after finishing chemo I rang the cancer ward in Vincent’s in a panic. I was, and am, keenly aware that the worst case scenario does actually happen sometimes.
And now? Well I’m just about at a place where I’m not terrified of the common cold anymore. I don’t always notice someone beside me in a restaurant sneezing or coughing and I’m not afraid to go to crowded places. I still have panic attacks sometimes that come out of nowhere sometimes and a random pain or not quite feeling one hundred per cent can cause hours or sometimes days of anxiety. And I still use a bit too much hand sanitizer. But I go to work. I live my life as it is. I do things that I like doing and I enjoy them.
I know how lucky I am - I got off relatively easy in cancer terms. But I'm not glad it happened. I'm not a better person. And I'm not your idea of a good cancer survivor. But I am a survivor. And I’ll be surviving for the rest of my life.
That’s what I’d love to say.
But I mostly just fake laugh and say “No no, no new lease of life. Just trying to get on with it.”
A terrifying biopsy (“So I’m just going to stick this giant needle through your chest, quite close to your heart and lungs. There’s a chance I might puncture them and cause a haemorrhage. I probably won’t but if you could just sign this waiver form?”) and a week’s wait later, I was told I had Hodgkins Lymphoma.
Now, in the aftermath of it all, one question I get constantly is “So, do you have a new lease of life now? A new perspective?” I know exactly what people mean by this – they mean “Are you jumping out of planes? Climbing Mount Everest? Have you achieved every life goal you ever had because of your new found drive and passion for life?” People are only dying to know that I’m somehow a better person after all of this, that actually Moira, I’m GLAD this happened to me because I wasn’t really living before and now I can REALLY live life to the full (WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? Answers on a postcard, please.)
People are desperate to project their idea of the “good cancer survivor” onto me. And I don’t really blame them. Cancer is a terrifying concept – you can do everything right and still get it, so people want reassurance that should it happen to them it would somehow be a positive experience. Well sorry Moira, I’m not glad that this incredibly traumatic thing happened to me and I’m not a better person than I was. I’m actually just trying to claw my way back to some sense of normality even though nothing will ever be normal again.
I was an even less inspiring cancer patient than I am a survivor. I heard the word “brave” a lot but it's not about bravery. The fact that I'm in remission is nothing to do with me, it is completely down to the doctors and nurses. All I did was show up - even though the morning before every chemo I genuinely considered just not going. But I had no choice. I had to do the thing that might kill me if I wanted to get rid of the thing that definitely would kill me. I was so anxious after my first chemo that two days later I had my first ever panic attack. I had no idea what was happening. I thought something had gone badly wrong and ended up back in hospital overnight. I was subsequently put on three Xanax a day in addition to the tens of other tablets I had to take daily. I had to unfollow every news site on all social media cos I literally could not deal with any more bad things. I could only consume good news and nice, safe content. I returned to books and films that I loved as a kid because reading Harry Potter and binge watching Saved by the Bell in its entirety made me feel briefly safe. (I KNOW J.K Rowling is problematic but look, I saw my situation reflected in Harry’s – he had to do things he was terrified of and he had no choice about it.)
After a couple of treatments, it transpired that my immune system was being taken down more than it should be by the chemo. A certain type of white blood cell, called a neutrophil, essential for your immune system was not reacting well. My very basic understanding of it is that neutrophils are measured on a scale of one to ten. Your Average Healthy Joe’s neutrophils are somewhere around 10. Chemo usually takes them down to around 3. Mine were at 0.1. It’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it just how terrifying it is to know that your immune system isn’t working properly and that even the good bacteria in your body can turn into very bad bacteria in a matter of seconds. I was told to avoid anywhere crowded, stay away from kids and if I felt in any way unwell or had a temperature I had to ring the hospital immediately. I didn’t deal well with this. I refused to go anywhere that might be even a little bit crowded. On the rare occasions that my fiancé or my mum did convince me to go out somewhere, I had a lot of conditions. It had to be early in the morning on a weekday and somewhere I knew wouldn’t be too crowded. I would spend the entire time on high alert for sneezers or coughers and if anyone dared to as much as clear their throat near me I got as far away from them as possible. I became obsessed with hand sanitizer and had strict rules around its usage for both myself and anyone who crossed my door. I wore a surgical mask when there was a big group of family in my parent’s house on Christmas day. I was constantly, constantly terrified.
And the terror doesn’t just go away once you hear the word “remission”. No jumping out of planes for me, Moira. In the months after I finished chemo I still took my temperature twice a day. More sometimes. I still excessively used hand sanitizer. I still had panic attacks that would come in the form of an overwhelming feeling that everything was about to go wrong again. I had planned to have a fuck cancer party as soon as I got the all clear but I couldn’t bring myself to do it because everything still felt a bit too precarious. The first time I got a cold and a temperature about six months after finishing chemo I rang the cancer ward in Vincent’s in a panic. I was, and am, keenly aware that the worst case scenario does actually happen sometimes.
And now? Well I’m just about at a place where I’m not terrified of the common cold anymore. I don’t always notice someone beside me in a restaurant sneezing or coughing and I’m not afraid to go to crowded places. I still have panic attacks sometimes that come out of nowhere sometimes and a random pain or not quite feeling one hundred per cent can cause hours or sometimes days of anxiety. And I still use a bit too much hand sanitizer. But I go to work. I live my life as it is. I do things that I like doing and I enjoy them.
I know how lucky I am - I got off relatively easy in cancer terms. But I'm not glad it happened. I'm not a better person. And I'm not your idea of a good cancer survivor. But I am a survivor. And I’ll be surviving for the rest of my life.
That’s what I’d love to say.
But I mostly just fake laugh and say “No no, no new lease of life. Just trying to get on with it.”
Great read Moira 😂😂 Thanks for sharing xx
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