The Cancer Closet

I may just change the name of the blog to Lympho Mary. You'll have to excuse me for linking to, and commenting on, so many of Mary Elizabeth Williams' columns, but her writing has really been speaking to me a lot lately.

Her most recent piece is called "The Sickness Closet," and it describes peoples' attempts to keep their illnesses (not just cancer, but MS, autoimmune diseases, and others) from certain people. The reasons vary, from fear of losing a job or clients, to wanting to avoid others' pity.

I find it such a fascinating topic because it brought back so many thoughts I had early on about who to tell, how to tell, and when and why. It made me think of my wife's reaction, very early on, when people asked her what they could to help, and her replying, "Tell other people. Spread the news for me." (I didn't know she had told people that, or that she had struggled with the telling -- not until fairly recently.)

I remembered telling my own colleagues in an email. A friend suggested I let them know, because they were going to catch word of it, probably, and either (1) make into something worse than it was, or (2) keep asking me about it. So I sent an email, letting them know what I knew at that point (which was almost nothing). I gave a select few the address to this blog, and they were great about reading and responding (and, I assume, sharing news with others). It was a fairly smooth process, as cancer-related processes go. People stayed informed, and didn't bombard me too often with questions (or, worse, advice). I'm lucky to be in a job where I don't have to worry about news of the illness making me lose clients or customers.

Of course, with this blog, I hope it's clear that I'll talk pretty freely about my cancer with whoever wants to know about it. Within reason, of course -- sometimes I censor myself because I'm not sure the people who are getting the information can handle what I'm about to tell them. So I keep it short and general. If they ask more questions, I know I can give them more.

It's funny, though, that the only group that I don't tell much to is work-related: I rarely tell my students. Of course, there aren't many opportunities to do so, without it coming out as one of those TMI situations, where they get to hear about my lymph noes without really asking or wanting to know. But there have been a few situations where my cancer has come out. In one course, I've mentioned this blog, and how it fueled my interest in social media. In another class, I talked about online identity, and I gave enough information about myself that a student asked if I was a cancer survivor. I said "Yes" after a little bit of a pause. I paused partly because I started a speech in my head about the  complexities of the word "survivor," because technically, I am a survivor, but I also know that the word implies something else to many people: that I beat it. I just went with a simple "Yes."

I could have given the speech, but I didn't, because I was a little hesitant to say, "Yes, I'm a survivor, but I'm also a patient." Why not tell my students that? I don't know. Sometimes I think, like one of the people in Williams' story, that I don't want them to pity me. Other times, I think it's because I don't want them to think I'm weak in some way. (I'm at an age and of a size where students rarely try to take advantage of me, but that "new teacher" fear of losing authority is still there, and always will be, I suppose.) Part of me is afraid that students will "check out" somehow, and stop paying attention.  I don't know. I've always been careful about the details that I reveal to students, because I've learned to craft a certain image of myself for them. I don't want to upset that image (although being a little bit vulnerable, a little bit aware of my own weaknesses, is certainly part of that image).

So, once again, Mary Elizabeth Williams has given me lots to think about. It's her last couple of lines that really sum up why it's such an important topic that makes such a deep connection, probably with lots of cancer patients and survivors:

There’s so much about illness we can’t control. That’s why we care so much about the one thing we always still have power over:  the way we get to talk to you about it.