"You look SO GOOOOD."
I hear that a lot these days. I appreciate it, don't get me wrong, and accept it with a shy giggle. But I can hear the genuine surprise lingering within the compliment. I just don't fit what people imagine when they imagine the cancer patient. You know the stereotyped look: The bald head, skeletal look, heartbreaking eyes of a Auschwitz prisoner.
The truth is, that doesn't happen to everyone (I mean...it does, can, but it's not an absolute). The nurse at my treatment center tells me that is a very common misconception that patients go through- battling the expectations people hold of what cancer "looks like." I can plainly see how this disease has changed my body (and feel it). This is "the worst diet plan ever" I declare with a laugh when the subject comes up.
I went to the holiday party at work and did my best to look nice. Not for everyone else but myself. To prove to myself that I could still be seen as a normal, smiling, happy person and not walking tumors, skinny limbs, a bag...it was nice to find that confidence again. And maybe that is what surprises people, how you can seem genuinely happy in what is the perceived face of doom?
I wonder if people don't see it, does it seem like I am not really dealing with anything at all? It's a paradox I can't wrap my head around: I want to be seen as strong, happy, and coping well, at the same time I don't want to pretend nothing ever gets to me.
Not all cancer patients have the same side effects. Remember that. I don't have nausea really, but drinking even room temperature water can be very painful most days. Reaching into the fridge or walking outside on a cold day can be very painful. I can't eat a salad like anyone else in the world. I don't have the strength to open a stupid Jello cup. No one imagines these limitations exist. Never assume what someone is going through, because every disease and person is unique.
My best friend, Angie, introduced me to the concept of invisible disabilities. I understood the impact when I was diagnosed with epilepsy. I ran into a lot of misconceptions and distrust because what I had wasn't clear and always visible to others. My seizures weren't the fall on the floor, bite your tongue type...and so it was perceived as having less of an impact on my life, as mental illness, as demonic possession! Because what people saw didn't match their perception of the disease, I was often met with hurtful (and potentially- physically dangerous) perceptions that were hard to overcome. I think that fear has carried over to my current situation, irrationally or not- I don't know.
I am happy I look good. I like the compliments. Just don't blow my cover by asking me to open up your Jello.
I hear that a lot these days. I appreciate it, don't get me wrong, and accept it with a shy giggle. But I can hear the genuine surprise lingering within the compliment. I just don't fit what people imagine when they imagine the cancer patient. You know the stereotyped look: The bald head, skeletal look, heartbreaking eyes of a Auschwitz prisoner.
The truth is, that doesn't happen to everyone (I mean...it does, can, but it's not an absolute). The nurse at my treatment center tells me that is a very common misconception that patients go through- battling the expectations people hold of what cancer "looks like." I can plainly see how this disease has changed my body (and feel it). This is "the worst diet plan ever" I declare with a laugh when the subject comes up.
I went to the holiday party at work and did my best to look nice. Not for everyone else but myself. To prove to myself that I could still be seen as a normal, smiling, happy person and not walking tumors, skinny limbs, a bag...it was nice to find that confidence again. And maybe that is what surprises people, how you can seem genuinely happy in what is the perceived face of doom?
I wonder if people don't see it, does it seem like I am not really dealing with anything at all? It's a paradox I can't wrap my head around: I want to be seen as strong, happy, and coping well, at the same time I don't want to pretend nothing ever gets to me.
Not all cancer patients have the same side effects. Remember that. I don't have nausea really, but drinking even room temperature water can be very painful most days. Reaching into the fridge or walking outside on a cold day can be very painful. I can't eat a salad like anyone else in the world. I don't have the strength to open a stupid Jello cup. No one imagines these limitations exist. Never assume what someone is going through, because every disease and person is unique.
My best friend, Angie, introduced me to the concept of invisible disabilities. I understood the impact when I was diagnosed with epilepsy. I ran into a lot of misconceptions and distrust because what I had wasn't clear and always visible to others. My seizures weren't the fall on the floor, bite your tongue type...and so it was perceived as having less of an impact on my life, as mental illness, as demonic possession! Because what people saw didn't match their perception of the disease, I was often met with hurtful (and potentially- physically dangerous) perceptions that were hard to overcome. I think that fear has carried over to my current situation, irrationally or not- I don't know.
I am happy I look good. I like the compliments. Just don't blow my cover by asking me to open up your Jello.
Wishing you many more days of beautiful! Enjoyed your blog you have a gift, continue to share! Debbie Ramsey
ReplyDeleteThank you Debbie for the encouragement! I appreciate it. :)
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