The Zohn Zone
Soccer player, survivor, humanitarian, canzer crusher
Posted in: Cancer
It’s Not a War. It’s Not a Football Game. It’s Cancer, and It’s Scary, Okay?
By Ethan Zohn
Published Jan 23, 2014
I’m 691 days, 8 hours and 15 seconds in remission from Hodgkins Lymphoma–not that I’m counting!–and I’m assuming you’d like me to answer the same old question that is hurled at every cancer warrior and cancer survivor on a daily basis: “How are you feeling?”
How am I feeling? Oh, how I love to hate this question. No matter how vast and deep one’s support network may be, everyone with cancer goes through it alone. No one can ever really understand what that experience is like because it’s unique for each person. I have a good idea how most people would like me to answer that question, but let me be blunt: If you have cancer, you feel like shit. If you had cancer, you are scared shitless that it may come back. That’s it, folks. Short and sweet.
The general perception of cancer–especially in this rugged-individualist, pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps country–is that there are winners and losers. We prefer to see it like football game: you either beat cancer and win the Superbowl; or you lose to cancer, and sayonara, shiny trophy/life! There is no in between. The reality of my situation is that I did everything in my power to beat cancer, and I did. But the cancer came back, and my life got blown apart at the seams all the same. And I think that’s okay, too. There are millions of people out there living with cancer, longing for stability, and functioning with the reality that this horrible disease may come back.
The emotional weight of my two-year scan is slowly approaching like a chubby three-toed tree sloth. When I reflect on my heinous journey – and don’t worry, this will not be a grisly, depressing blog about cancer – I’m excited to share that there are some “good” sides to cancer. For example, I lost weight, I got to wear really cool hats, and I can now pee in Morse Code.
I have come to realize, however, that people tend to join your regiment during the arms race build-up between a cancer diagnosis and the execution of the treatment protocol. But afterwards, once the immediate danger (as they presume it) has passed, they tend to forget all about the “war,” their shiny “weapons,” and they slip back into their normal, civilian lives. And my point isn’t that they are thoughtless, because they aren’t. They just don’t know. But those of us who do know don’t forget. The psychological hangover is long and dark. Of course good news deserves a euphoric dance party, but it’s important to remember the post-remission patient because there are dump trucks full of uncertainty and invisible scars that need healing.
My generation of survivors is more open about our cancer experience than ever before. We don’t hide our status. We are openly looking for support and connection. We like the gritty honesty, the real time information, and instant support. Recognizing ourselves in others can help us all feel more connected. It is comforting to know that when you feel really alone, like devastatingly alone,you can connect with someone out there who was having a similar experience. The incredible friends I have made during this plunge into the big sloppy sea of cancer is what helped keep me alive. To me, that is a blessing, and I am forever grateful.
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