Labeling Ourselves

Dr. Rick Boulay, an oncologist in Pennsylvania, wrote a really nice piece a couple of days ago called "Cancer, Redefined: 'Survivor'." The idea behind the article is that as cancer has changed, our approach to cancer has changed, and thus the philosophy behind our approach to cancer has changed.

We can see the change, says Dr. Boulay, in the language we use to talk about people with cancer.

A generation ago, we had "heroes" (people who overcame cancer) and "victims" (people who didn't).

Then we had "patients" -- people who were actively being treated.

Then we had "conquerors" -- people who took the tough-as-nails approach to beating it.

And now we have "survivors," which, to many, denotes anyone who has it, had it, or isn't sure. The day you get diagnosed, say some (including me), you are a survivor.

I find the whole subject pretty fascinating. It gets to the heart of what I do for a living, of course -- thinking about the words we use and the implications of those words. I've written a bunch of times about the words we cancer patients/survivors use to describe ourselves.

This article made me remember the time a co-worker told me that I was victim. A friend of hers with cancer had laid it out for her. "If you've had it less than five years, you're a victim," she told me. "After 5 years, you're a survivor."

I leaned in closer to her and said. "I'm no victim," and I walked away. I think she thought I was playing around with her, but it pissed me off. Victims are helpless. I'm no victim. And worse, I hate the idea that I'm thought of as one.

Which is maybe why I never tell my students about my cancer, except in rare instances. One asked me once, after I'd dropped some hints, if I was a "cancer survivor." I paused before I said Yes. The pause was because I didn't know how she defined "survivor." After I few seconds, I kind of decided that it really didn't matter how she defined it. What mattered was how I defined it.

And I've written about the "survivor" label, too. Some cancer patients and post-patients don't like it, and that's their choice. For me, the word embodies the kind of toughness that "conqueror" does in the Boulay piece, with without the grand historical implications. Survivor is just as tough, but a little quieter about it all. Survivor conserves its energy, saving it for just the right time -- a reassuring hug, or an arms-in-the-air at the end of a 5k, or a long walk around a track in the middle of the night, arms linked with other survivors.

The most important thing is, we label ourselves. Or we reject the labels of others. Because words do matter.