Take Your Tumors to the Movies: Deadpool

I love going to the movies. I sill believe in the magic of film and cinema, and the movies is a small joy that is there for me even when I feel at my worst. My husband and I bring up the armrest and hold hands the whole time.

The thing about the movies is that before being diagnosed, the depiction of cancer in movies wasn't something I thought of often. It was there in stories, as passing plot points, but something changes when you have it...you become hyper-aware of its use as a plot device. It is everywhere. I mean, everywhere. It is almost shorthand for "the worst possible thing in the world happened to this character" so you can accept why they help / kill / love / others. It's hard to explain since I don't remember all instances, but rest assured, the second they mention it my husband throws his hands in the air. He hates the reminder.

I saw Deadpool this weekend, knowing full well this was a big plot point, but it looked like crazy fun. I wasn't sure how they would treat it in a superhero movie and was kinda curious, kinda apprehensive. Usually, the movie cancer patient is a sad, withering, one-dimensional person - everyone talks real low, cries alot, soft-focus shots...you know the drill. I think of Cloe from Fight Club.

Deadpool was...surprisingly poignant. Yes, for a movies that includes insane violence and the words "...sandpaper dildo", it was surprisingly poignant on this front. I couldn't stop thinking about it at the end. Ryan Reynolds scenes with his girlfriend felt very real to my experience because they were multidimensional - there was fear, pain, and humor, and love, hope, all swirling around together. There was the apprehension of how to properly deal with a diagnosis that gives you no hope. He says at one point, it's not what it does to you , it what it does to those that love you. I have said the same thing, I can handle what it does to me- but seeing what it does to those that love me, that is the hardest part. And the fact that Deadpool got that, made me oddly happy. Seeing someone on screen handling late stage cancer with such a range of emotions, including humor, was nice.

Vague Spoiler Alert: So he gets promised a cure that will also make him superhuman. He willingly undergoes tremendous pain in the hopes of being cured, so he can come home to the woman he loves. It ends in fire, and we see him emerge from the ashes. Cured, but changed. Scarred from the journey. I teared up, because it felt like such an analogy. I don't care what hell I have to go through, I will do it if it just gives me the chance.

And if I can be a wise-cracking superhero at the end, even better.

Check out the PSA on early cancer detection from Deadpool. There's one for the fellas, and one for the ladies.

The Blog Where I Talk About Sex

I hope I don't make too many cheeks red, but I want to talk about sex. Yes, I said it! SEX.

Sex and intimacy are important topics, and they are often ignored in very important contexts because it simply not polite conversation. Not having those conversations though can have a real impact on people's lives- so I prefer to giggle nervously but just move forward.

Disability and illness are rarely included in the conversations we do have. We assume, falsely, that those facing medical issues, or those that are disabled, are asexual. Society has a way of mentally castrating people it no longer considers generally desirable. This is a difficult stigma, and surely a person who is just at the start of hardship might assume this is the role they must play.

A few years ago I bought my friend a book about sex and disability because she was rehabilitation counselor and I thought she would find it interesting, and potentially be helpful to another someday. While it sat in my house, waiting to be gift-wrapped, I looked through it. One diagram showed how to put a condom over a catheter. I was kinda shocked and a bit grossed out at first, but quickly realized that was the reaction most of us carry around and it is, plainly wrong. I read about how people with spinal cord injuries find that new erogenous zones develop when they lose the ability to feel below the waist. An elbow, a spot on their neck, they can cause feelings of orgasm when a vibrator is placed to them. This information was fascinating to me, and eye-opening. Why should anyone be deprived of basic pleasure and intimacy? Why should we assume that a person going through disability or illness isn't capable, or desires, of those most basic of human emotions and needs?

But internalizing that when you are that person is harder because that stigma is reflected everywhere.

When I first received the colostomy it was a blow to my self-image. I wanted to continue life as it was, but when my husband looked at me I assumed that he just saw the clear bag and its contents...saw cancer and sadness. I couldn't imagine anyone could find beauty there or desire that, even though rationally I knew better.

During one of my chemo's, the nurse navigator came over and - with a whisper - asked if I was interested in a book about colostomies and sex. I laughed, but she was genuinely afraid of offending me. I welcomed it though, no one else broaches the subject and I had so many questions and insecurities in my head. The book was It's in the Bag and Under the Cover by Brenda Elsagher. More than anything truly sexy, it was a wonderful collection of couples telling their stories of acceptance. Not only within established relationships, but new too. 

Just a week prior I had read a list of "Worst 1st Dates" and one was "A girl told me she had a colostomy." 

It isn't about sex really at the end of the day. It's about acceptance, of intimacy, cuddling with someone and feeling loved completely. It's finding a partner who can see past disability or illness and see the beauty in you.

The Virtues of Being An Old Fart

My mother looks in the mirror and whines about her gray roots. She squints at the wrinkles, and studies her face like a topographical map.

"I'm ooooold..." It's both a statement and a complaint against time. She punctuates it a second time with: "Ceci, I'm old." Her tone makes it seem as if she is revealing a new fact to me.

This makes me think about the people I see around me at chemo. I am a rarity, you see. People my age don't get seen very often in the GI clinic because we just don't get colon cancer as often. Part of me is suspicious that this elicits a bit more attention from nurses, a bit more encouragement, a bit more pity because I am "so young". They say it like that, they stretch it out and let it linger in the air.

Everyone around me looks about 50-80 and I must be honest, dear reader...that ugly part of my soul finds a tinge of jealousy. A tiny seed of anger and pettiness. It's terrible, I know, but I can't help but feel it creep into my heart. All I can do is acknowledge it, fight it back and swallow it down. I think of them raising their family, buying a house, going on cheesy cruises to the Bahamas, celebrating 30 years with their spouse, getting that promotion at work...they had life. Chances.

When I see grey hair, I see a life lived. I see stretch marks and wrinkles, I see a body that went places. I see creaky bones and stiff fingers, I imagine they did something. Whether they made mistakes or took those chances, I don't know- but they had them. And right now, it's what I want most. It's the only reason to fight. I guess, I am simply no longer interested in the cult of youth.

Your grey hair, those 30 extra pounds, those stretch marks...next time you lament having gotten old...remember that someone out there wants nothing more than that. Be proud of your birthdays, of your memories, of the people you have known, and all the facets and versions of yourself that you got to be.

It is a beautiful and truly envious thing.