Put the Cancer Card Down

Yesterday evening, I received a phone call from an old friend whom I hadn't spoken with if months, if not years. She's one of those old friends with whom you have so much history that, even if you haven't spoken in a very long time, you always seem to pick up where you left off.
She told me about what was going on in her life, and I told her that I was working on a book. As I reluctantly described the premise of the book (which draws from my experience with cancer), she said off hand, "You know, you can't play the cancer card forever."

I know she meant it as a joke, but it kind of got me riled up.

Justin and I joked, along with some other friends, about how many cancer cards I got after I got sick. A cancer card, for those of you who might be unaware, is just a euphemism for how many times you get to use your illness as an excuse to get out of something or a reason why you should get something.* Justin and I agreed, tongue in cheek, that I got 3 cancer cards a month as long as I was going through treatment. I could use my cancer as an excuse not to go to a party or for buying a new shirt, or for why I was too tired to make dinner, etc...

Of course now I've been in remission for a year and a half, which is awesome, but my friend's statement illuminated something for me. I imagine that she looks at me and thinks, cancer was an event in my life and now it's over - so move on. Stop playing the cancer card; you don't have cancer anymore.

However, as other cancer survivors might agree, cancer was not an "event" in my life. Cancer changed my life, myself in an indelible way that can't be seen on the surface. I've grown back the hair I lost and lost a lot of the weight I gained while fighting cancer, and other than the odd scar here and there, it would be hard to look at me and see the effect cancer has had on my life. But cancer changed my life outlook, my career path, my expectations, my plans for having a family....it changed me. For better or worse, my life is undeniably changed. That doesn't mean that I play the cancer card anymore....I won't use cancer as an excuse in my life. I intend to try and live my life to the fullest and to use my experiences with cancer to make my life better. I'm writing a book. I've mentioned that already, but I'm writing a book about 6 women whose lives have been indelibly changed by cancer, cancer of their own or of a loved one. It's a book about their journey, how they learn to live their lives interrupted, and how they love and support one another through the ups and downs, life and death. When my friend heard I was writing a book about women surviving cancer, she didn't understand, because from the outside it looks like cancer was a bump in the road. She thinks that I should have a new story...a new tune. She's wrong, but I plan to show her and everyone else. I plan to finish this book, as a catharsis for myself and, hopefully, a help for others. I will take the lemons that I was given and make lemonade. And when I'm done, I'll probably offer my friend a drink. :)


*Although it didn't fit into the blog, I thought I would mention the most egregious of the cancer cards I ever played for your giggles.

A bunch of our friends were at the bowling alley, celebrating my two friends' birthdays. At the time, I was in the middle of my new round of chemo which had left me with a picc line (picture 2 foot long tubes hanging out of my right arm), a head absent of hair (not to mention a face as well), and the bloated, hairless, pale moon face. In other words, I looked ever bit the cancer patient. There were about twelve of us at the party, and we had purchased a couple of pitchers of beer and soda, but it was hot and some of us wanted water. Two of the girls in our group had gone up separately to the concession stand, trying to get a pitcher of water, but they were denied. The girl told them that it would cost $7 a pitcher...as much as a pitcher of soda or beer. Each came back and reported her failure, and after the second one came back I said, "Let me try. I'll get some water."

I trudged up to the cancer stand in all my bald, cancer-ey glory, and asked the girl in a sweet voice. "Could I possibly get a pitcher of water? I need to take my evening pills and I have to drink a lot of water with my condition."
I could see the lady behind the counter take in my physical condition, and then almost watch her weigh her pity against the rules which she was entrusted to enforce, the rules she had enforced with such gusto with my friends. Aware that she was deliberating when she said, "Well..." followed by a long pause, I gave her my best doe eyes and attempted to look as pathetic as possible.
".....alright," she said, pursing her lips, "but don't tell anyone I did this or I'll get in trouble."
I gave her my biggest, sweetest smile and thanked her. To make her feel better I laid it on thick. "Thanks for this," I said as she scooped ice into a pitcher and filled it with the water button on the soda hose, "I have to drink a lot because of all the drugs they give me to fight the cancer." She rewarded me with a kind smile.
"It's no problem," she said.

When I returned to my lane, my friends were suitably impressed and amused as I relayed the story. Justin, it should be noted, immediately removed not one, but two of that month's cancer cards. One because I used cancer to break the rules, and the second card because I told a wee white lie. I didn't really have to take any pills that evening. I know, I know....it was wrong. But I was on a lot of chemo at the time and my liver was probably happier with water over soda....definitely over beer.

And that's my most egregious use of a cancer card. Don't judge me. :)