One of the things I never want is pity. I only ever ask for understanding.
On July 9th of 2015, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Being the age of seventeen, this was considered a childhood cancer.
No one was kidding when they said it happens when you least expect it. I had came back from a trip to New York City was with my mother and the symptoms of abdominal pain were indescribable. Disguised as a “stomach pain” I thought nothing of it. However, it was much more than pain. It was a swollen lymph node, 3 cm in diameter, pressed against my intestinal wall.
It all happened very quickly. One moment you hear the news of cancer and the next, you’re on an operating table having a chemotherapy port inserted into your chest. Two days after receiving the life changing news, I started a high dose chemotherapy regimen. Everything occurs before you can even process that you even have cancer to begin with.
“Do you want to drop out of school?”
“Do you want to write your living will?”
“Have you decided who will decide your health care in case you go unconscious?”
“You may want to consider freezing your eggs”
I was only seventeen and I should have been deciding what college to apply to and places to hang out with my friends before senior year began, not pressing issues such as future reproduction, possible unconscious, and funeral arrangements.
One decision I knew for sure was that I did not want many people to know of my condition. In fact, I only ever wanted my immediate family and seven of my closest friends to know the truth.
After about four months of chemotherapy treatment, I was finally pronounced cancer-free on November 30th. On this day, I had shared publicly with my school and social media about my condition.
People had questioned why I hid this secret from the public for so long and I had many reasons. Yet, the main reason why I never told many people was due to pity. I did not want people to see me or treat me any differently. I was a student, sister, friend, and human being. I did not want to be seen as lesser or weaker. I knew my friends and family would never treat me as such. However, the student body and community was worrisome.
You’d be surprised how many people will try to communicate with you or claim to be very close to you in order to boost their reputation.
Businesses and organizations will only try to associate with you in order to increase philanthropy or gain extra revenue. Individuals will talk to you to help their ego. I distinctly remember a girl who once bullied me in middle school that suddenly claimed I was a very good friend of hers just to make herself appear genuine and kind. I never regretted my decision to keep my condition under wraps. I never regretted my decision to tell people about my condition after I was announced as cancer-free. Not only can I identify those who are artificial and superficial, but I was able to spread awareness.
I never liked the phrase “stay strong” because it seemed as if someone expected me to become weak at some point in my treatment. To be completely honest, there is no need to tell someone with cancer to stay strong because they are strong even at their weakest point.
If anything annoys a patient even more, it’s reminding them of the condition they have. They are well aware that they are in the hospital and that they have cancer. The best thing anyone can do to help support is to treat them as you normally would.
It’s hard to look beyond the hair loss, the port in the chest, the pale skin, and the drained face. However, it is entirely possible to understand what is occurring in front of your eyes and what the person expects from you.
They do not want pity.
They want empathy.
They want truth.
Most importantly, they want to forget.
My team always told me that once treatment was over, I’d look at my cancer treatment as a bump in the road. In reality, thanks to friends and family, I saw it as a sign I had passed on the road; something I only gave attention to for a second and forgot I even saw it from then on.
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