It's Only Words...

"It's only words, and words are all I have

To take your heart away..."

These lyrics are from the Bee Gees' song "Words," a simply beautiful ballad. First of all, my closest friends and family know that the Bee Gees has been my favorite musical group forever. Their words and music -- on more occasions than I can remember -- have taken my heart away.

When Robin Gibb died of metastatic cancer, I felt so saddened for him and his family -- and I felt the loss deeply, as I will always feel connected in some way to the Brothers Gibb.

I took Robin's death personally. Damn cancer.

Marie at Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer wrote a wonderful post about how media reports said that Robin "lost his battle" with the disease, and she pointed out that the cancer vocabulary taints how society views cancer with all the warrior/battle/victor imagery. Then AnneMarie of Chemobrain...In the Fog With A.M. From BC 2 AD created an excellent prompt for posts on what words really agitate us, irritate us, or just royally piss us off.

So, following AnneMarie's lead, here is a list of insensitive, ridiculous cancer-related and adoption-related remarks that people have said to me that launch the stupid-o-meter into space:

On Cancer:

"You're lucky: you have the best cancer" (Are there any good cancers?)

"You don't look sick." (And you don't look smart.)

"You lost weight. What are you complaining about; you have a nice figure." (Yes, it's that no-food diet, thank you very much.)

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you are luckier than all of us who aren't getting two vacation days off a month [for chemo]." (WTF?)

On Adoption:

"Your daughter looks just like you, especially the eyes." (My Caucasian self got on a plane to China in order to adopt my..uh...Chinese daughter. We look different, and [with a Stuart Smalley pause] that's okay.)

"I wonder if she misses her real mother." (Hullo. Her real mother is ME. I'm the one up late at night with a sick child; I'm the one tending to her bruises, and I'm the one she clings to in times of stress. If that's not a real mother, then I don't know what is. I'm the only mother she has known. And the last time I pinched myself, I hurt, so I must be real.)

"She's a China doll." (Correction: She is from China, not made of china, and she's not a doll.)

"I bet she was expensive" (I didn't "buy" her. And I don't go around asking people what they spent birthing their biological children).

So for those who think their insensitive remarks are only words, they might want to start actually thinking. There's no such thing as "only words" -- except in a remarkable Bee Gees song.




My real daughter



The lion is fake.

I'm writing a book titled Calling the Shots: Coaching Your Way Through the Medical System. Please feel free to subscribe to this blog by clicking the orange subscribe button. I am a professional writer and have published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on my breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. I can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com.

Belated Six-Word Memoir

I've been playing catch-up with reading all the fabulous blogs out there and trying to catch up in my writing. Here's my six-word cancer memoir, part of a blogosphere challenge a little while ago:


cancer. uninvited guest. lifetime of unrest.



I'm writing a book titled Calling the Shots: Coaching Your Way Through the Medical System. Please feel free to subscribe to this blog by clicking the orange subscribe button. I am a professional writer and have published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on my breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. I can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com.

Cancer and Emotional Dependency

I am writing this post a couple of days later than I planned for Mental Health Blog Day. I thought, what a great idea, to blog about something so important -- mental wellness, still considered a taboo topic in our society.


Cancer's physical repercussions are constantly part of the cancer dialogue. The toll this disease takes on our mental health? Not so much. Well, to break the taboo ice, here's my story of how cancer has affected my emotional health and made me dependent on my healthcare providers -- something not unusual in the cancer world.


When diagnosed and going through treatments, I think of only one thing: how to stay alive. I do what my doctors and oncology nurse tell me. 


I follow their orders. 


I don't want to see them so regularly. But I have to.


I'm in a primal state of being. 


I'm in survival mode.


My treatment regimen is brutally inhumane: chemotherapy and radiation during the same period of time. When radiation ends, my chemotherapy will continue awhile afterward. I don't want to be in this situation.


But my oncologist is kind and decides that this treatment is most likely to save my life.


I mindlessly drive myself to radiation and chemotherapy treatments and focus on one day at a time, one treatment at a time. One foot at a time as I walk. 


One breath at a time. 


I have no  energy to do the things that once seemed so simple to me, things I took for granted: walking, talking on the phone, reading, writing, having a bowel movement. 


I continue working a full- and part-time job and take only one sick day. I use my well-saved-up vacation days for chemotherapy. 


Doctors schedule me for treatments, and I can't say "No, that date doesn't work for me." My life now belongs to them.


I collapse into anxiety and depression. My life is reeling out of control, and all I do lately is cry to doctors and nurses. They all hug me and hold my hand. They try their best to make me feel better. It helps.


Finally, the big day comes. 


Graduation.


Treatment is "over," and I am free of the barrage of doctor's appointments -- for now. 


Friends and family are celebrating that I'm "done" with these major treatments and therefore "done" with cancer.


In a strange twist, I feel even more anxiety and depression than I did during treatment. I want to be getting radiation and chemo. I don't want to be "done." The fact that routine followups will be part of my care plan does not comfort me.


I need my doctors. I want them to see me everyday. I want to live right across the street from the hospital in case I need medical help. 


I miss my radiation oncologist and her beautiful, cheerful smile. I miss radiation, the daily care that the loving staff gave me. Why should I care that I was burnt to a crisp? I miss seeing my medical oncologist. All I want is the security of seeing my doctors.


I miss being closely monitored. I feel hurt, upset, angry, rejected. 


I feel like an astronaut in space, and my doctors are in the space shuttle. I feel that my lifeline has been severed, and I am floating away in space, begging my doctors not to let go of me. 


"Don't let go of me. Just don't let go."


But they let go, and my forced re-entry into the world is anything but stable. As I land into a sea of turbulence, I realize the world has not changed since my diagnosis, but I sure have. 


I am afraid to face the world and don't know how to process what had just happened to me. Life during treatment was in some ways easier because I just had to "do," not "process."


Somehow I've managed to survive. Because my life now belongs to me. 


And I've had to let go. 



I'm writing a book titled Calling the Shots: Coaching Your Way Through the Medical System. Please feel free to subscribe to this blog by clicking the orange subscribe button. I am a professional writer and have published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on my breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. I can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com.

Shock

Just two days ago, a former co-worker at a former company informed me that our former boss died from lung cancer. 


She was 62.


I simply couldn't believe it. My former boss was so vibrant and alive. She was too young for cancer. 


Why the shock that someone died relatively young from cancer? Why the shock that it was lung cancer? Why the shock that it was someone I knew? Why the shock the victim seemed destined for a long life in my mind, only to have it crashing down?


Then I caught myself.


I, of all people, should know better. That cancer strikes people from all walks of life and at all ages. That cancer doesn't give a sh*t who its victim is. That it is an insidious, ruthless disease that tries to destroy the body. That the whole "one is too young for cancer" is a bunch of rotten baloney.


Yet I still felt shock, disbelief, anger, and grief about my former boss. Had to read the message from my former co-worker over and over again. Couldn't -- wouldn't -- believe it.


Today, my friend with leukemia received her second bone marrow transplant. I was shocked that the first one was unsuccessful. I thought she would be in remission. I even convinced myself she was cured. Then the doctors found cancer cells. She needed to start her treatment all over again. 


I pray that this second transplant works. I know I'll be shocked if it doesn't take, as I am in the process of lying to myself that cancer cooperates.


And my co-worker's husband is faring poorly. Metastatic cancer. And I am surprised. How could cancer metastasize so quickly?


Clearly, I am not a naive person, but it's unsettling how much I'm lying to myself these days. I know what it's like to lose a loved one to cancer and I know what it's like to have cancer young.


The truth is all wrapped up somewhere in the lies I tell myself. 


The lies serve to protect me from the real possibility that I may soon lose some people dear to my heart.


A couple of weeks ago, I spoke with a woman who is 62 and whose parents are alive and well into their 90s. The mom of my friend with leukemia lived into her mid-90s and was hardly ever sick. My friend and I always thought her genetic line was strong. 


We were wrong.


My family dies of old age or cancer in their 90s. Does that longevity bode well for the future for me? Probably not. Family history doesn't seem to correlate to long lifespans. I'm the youngest in my family to have cancer. I'm the family's cancer pioneer.


Well, life's longevity may not be all it's cracked up to be, I tell myself. The key is to seize the moment and savor all the days we have left on Earth.


And to be less shocked.

I'm writing a book titled Calling the Shots: Coaching Your Way Through the Medical System. Please feel free to subscribe to this blog by clicking the orange subscribe button. I am a professional writer and have published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on my breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. I can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com.

Cancer is a Liar

"Enjoy your daughter."

These haunting words came from one of my dearest friends. She had just told me that her leukemia had returned. She had reminded me how important it is to enjoy the blessings in my own life.

Our conversation reminded me how naive I still am about cancer.

I thought she had beaten the disease. I thought she had done enough to become a survivor. I thought that everything was going to be OK. After all, her brother participated in her bone marrow transplant. And he was a 100 percent match.

What are the odds of that?

Again, cancer fooled me into complacency. I thought she was in remission. That's what her doctors said. But cancer is a liar.

I should have known better. I should know that there is no cure, that cancer is ruthless, that cancer's insidious path knows no boundaries. That cancer is one cruel, ugly son of a bitch.

This February has been mild weather wise, but it's been especially dark and wintry to me. I teach my students that, in literature, winter is often the symbol of death. The month started with the deaths of Rachel Cheetham Moro and Susan Niebur. That would be enough to send anyone reeling. In fact, that sent all of us in the blogosphere reeling.

That same week, a friend of mine had to put her very ill dog down, and I stopped by her house to say good-bye to the dog I've known since he was a puppy15 years ago. More grief, more sadness.

And then a few days later, I find out through a beloved co-worker that her husband has melanoma that has spread into his lymph system and how they were going to "fight" and "beat" this thing called cancer. Uh huh.

And then, only a couple short weeks later, my friend tells me that her leukemia is back. So on leap day, February 29, she took her leap of faith -- with her first chemo infusion in awhile. She has to be hospitalized for at least five weeks. Luckily, her sister is also a perfect match for a bone marrow transplant.

Deja vu. That's exactly how her first treatments went, but she has a rare, aggressive form of leukemia.

I am distraught.

Did I say cancer is a liar? I won't be fooled into complacency this time.

I have been out of the blogosphere loop nearly all of February because of all these tragic happenings. I just can't seem to focus on the writing at hand. I remember losing my friend Faun to breast cancer, and thinking how I never wanted to go through something like this again.

Now the losses are like a major car pileup on an icy freeway.

With the exception of my journal, I often have writer's block. I can't express the depth of sadness, the abyss I find myself in.

It's getting more and more difficult to push through the sorrow. I know death is part of living, but why do so many people have to die young from cancer? Why is there no cure for this disease? Our society is all talk about eradicating this disease, but we don't walk the walk.

My friend who is now suffering from leukemia treatments in the hospital is such a good person. I surround myself with positive, good, kind folk -- in person and online. My friends are first-rate people, and now I feel I'm losing them one by one. It makes me feeling pretty beat up.

I promised my friend that I would enjoy my daughter, and thankfully I'm doing that. I have a renewed appreciation of the mischief in Ari's eyes and her smile and the wonder that is my child. Dear Ari: Momma loves you.

Dear blogosphere: I'm finally back.

I'm writing a book titled Calling the Shots: Coaching Your Way Through the Medical System. Please feel free to subscribe to this blog by clicking the orange subscribe button. I am a professional writer and have published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on my breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. I can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com.

The Hoopla of National Cancer Survivors Day®

Just when the marketing of cancer feel-good gimmicks cannot get more insulting, there's National Cancer Survivors Day. Oops, I forgot to include that pesky little registered symbol.

My bad, so sad.

Once again, here is an attempt -- through a fake holiday -- to extol those who have "survived" cancer (whatever "survived" means) instead of honoring those who died from cancer or are dying from cancer.

Once again, this huge cloud of denial shrouds our very culture to the core: denial that many, many people are NOT surviving cancer. Denial that money is NOT always being funneled properly into research, but into feel-good campaigns. Denial that people with metastatic disease are NOT being honored or maybe even considered survivors.

They are forgotten. On purpose.

By society's accounts, I am a breast cancer survivor. That's how I introduce myself in social circles because it's a term that most people understand.

However, I'm not comfortable with that word, "survivor," which connotes some sort of superhero who has battled and defeated the demon known as cancer.

"Survivors" are not heroes, but our society puts us up on a pedestal -- all because we have not died from the disease...yet. Those who die from cancer are not weaker or less tenacious than those of us who "survived." Cancer can come back at any time -- and with a vengeance, no matter how hard a person tries to stay healthy. 

The problem is that on a subliminal level (or maybe not too subliminal), there's a blame game going on: those who survive did something heroic; those who don't survive just weren't tough enough.

I can tell you how I spent National Cancer Survivors Day yesterday. Irritated that such a day existed and reminded that being a "survivor" is not all it's cracked up to be. We have ongoing medical issues, as a result of harsh treatments. We are at risk for other cancers due to the very treatments designed to help us. We must deal with survivor's guilt, as most of us at least have lost someone to cancer and wonder why we survived. And the experience of having cancer is the experience of losing control of one's life.

"Survivors" can also have PTSD, some of whom must be on psychotropic medication and/or need counseling. Others may have a recurrence, thereby stripping them of "survivor" status.

Truth is, whatever the outcome, nobody affected by cancer is a hero. We are just human beings.

We don't need a Survivors Day.

We need a cure.

I am a professional writer and have published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on my breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. To obtain my postings regularly, please subscribe to this blog by clicking the orange subscribe button. I can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com.

Power in Pharmacists

Weary of calling a doctor who doesn’t return your phone calls regarding medication? Or how about those doctors who give you little to no information on a medication's side effects?


Well, here’s perhaps the best-kept secret. An arsenal of medicine-know-how lies at your fingertips – literally. All you have to do is phone a friend – your local pharmacist.


Sure you can do research on the Internet and opt to read the yada yada medical lingo inserted in medication packages, but really, why bother?


Not only can a pharmacist explain the side effects of a drug, for example, off the tip of his or her head, one is available 24/7.


As part of the cancer community, I have had an enormous number of prescription drugs -- from medicines that help combat the side effects of cancer treatment to supposedly cancer-recurrence preventing medicines. Even some of the best doctors in the world do not always give a complete picture of how a drug can affect you.

Enter the pharmacist. He/she is an excellent resource to all things Rx.  

For example, I was taking a medication to prevent a breast cancer recurrence. I had no idea how detrimental the medication was to my bones until they hurt so much, that I often found myself prostrate on the floor crying.

Every body movement was agony. 

The doctor took me off the medication, but it was a pharmacist who originally warned me when I started it that I might have bone pain. That's how I knew that the intense pain I felt was due to the medication. And that's how I knew to immediately tell my doctor about its adverse side effects.

A couple of years after my double mastectomy with reconstruction, a doctor prescribed a medication to help alleviate the residual pain. The physician didn't tell me the side effects, but a pharmacist did, upon my asking. He told me that it could cause problems with my circulatory system.

I told him to forget about filling it, saying, "My gosh! I've had cancer and problems with my bones, not to mention my reproductive system and who knows what else chemotherapy damaged?! The one thing that's going right for me right now is my circulation, so I'll just bear with the pain."

I'm not suggesting you refuse to take needed prescription medications; I'm just saying that having more complete information about these medications is a good idea so that you have the power of choice.

A pharmacist knows drug information intimately, and every time I have called a pharmacist to double check on a medication, he/she has known such information through rote memory and logic. That’s why he/she specializes in medications.


Even if you have the most competent of physicians, you might as well double-check with a pharmacist. In the case of doctors who don't get back to you regarding medication side effects, this professional can become your best friend.

Have you had any instance(s) where doctors did or did not inform you of a medication's side effects? I am eager to hear your experiences.

This posting is an excerpt from my upcoming book, Calling the Shots: Coaching Your Way Through the Medical System. To obtain these excerpts regularly, please subscribe to this blog by clicking the orange subscribe button. I am a professional writer and have published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on my breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. I can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com.

Clueless in New Jersey and Elsewhere

According to NJ.com, which has posted an article from Politico.com, dated June 25 -- before Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died -- sad stories about people's personal battles are just too...well...sad.

The story (the link to the full story below) opens describing how Rep. Rosa DeLauro of Connecticut shares her personal battle with ovarian cancer and how Indiana Senator Evan Bayh talked about his mom's death from breast cancer.

Then, only a few sentences later, the "news" article -- and I use the term "news" lightly -- says:

"When it comes to the debate over health care reform, the personal medical narrative has become something like a key card: You can’t get in without one. Advocates on both sides of the health care debate are stockpiling real-life stories from average citizens. But in the world wrought by talk-show confessionals and reality TV — and in a political environment where an admission of economic pain and suffering may score some points — members can be counted on to invoke their own medical sagas as well."

Whaaah??

Now let me make sure I'm understanding this correctly: people's personal narratives are equated to talk-show confessionals and reality TV? So, like, when I was throwing up from chemo, that was equivalent to me being on yet another Jerry Springer "Who's Your Daddy" saga?

Since when has fighting cancer, or any condition for that matter, become a "saga"?

The personal narrative of one's own experience with illness or discussing a loved one is one of the most refreshing concepts to emerge. Everyone is telling his or her story lately -- thanks to vehicles like the blogosphere -- because the truth is this: many politicians don't care much about healthcare topics....until it hits home for them personally.

In fact, many people are walking around clueless all over the place, denial-zombies -- until illness strikes their loved ones or themselves...or celebrities. But even then, as I discussed in a previous blog, denial is this fog that creeps over even those whose family and friends have an illness.

Here's why the personal narrative is so important: because people afflicted with an illness or condition are NOT heard by society. That's why the personal narrative has become so popular. People want to hear the stories of those who are suffering -- because it keeps us human and humane, and for those of us who have struggled/are struggling with a condition, it reminds us that we are not alone in our suffering.

Where's the "saga" in that?

Oh, and later in the article, it gets real good when NY Congressman Peter King says that "...everyone has a story sadder than yours...we are in the age of Twitter, where we are supposed to let the world know what you're doing every day,...but I have a certain zone of privacy not just to protect yourself but to not be imposing on other people."

Yeah, Mr. King, you are imposing your pro-denial views on me, and I resent it.

But to give this online publication credit, it avoids becoming strictly a propaganda piece by quoting Molly Daniels, Vice President Advocacy Field, for the American Cancer Society Action Network: "What I've heard time and time again and what we've heard throughout the organization -- people want to share their stories, so it doesn't happen to other people."

We need the personal narrative because we live in a culture where people are so consumed with brushing ugliness under the carpet, that they don't want to hear the voices emanatiing from underneath it.

I think I'll Twitter now, Mr. King.

http://www.nj.com/us-politics/index.ssf/2009/06/health_care_debate_prep_sad_st.html#post

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris College in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com/.

Sense and Sensibility -- and Courage

People who fight any sort of condition -- which is most people nowadays -- have to reside deep in their hearts to find that all-too-rare commodity: courage. Those with medical afflictions have to find the best advocates: ourselves.


My postings have focused on how to navigate the medical system, which is a never-ending gauntlet of doctors and medical tests. This posting is about following your senses to know which family members and friends to "fire" if the relationship is not worth saving, as well as the courage to deal with those who lack sensibility, or empathy.

For me, living through the breast cancer experience had been such an enormously challenging undertaking that I would find myself crying in the car, sobbing in the bathroom, and bleary eyed half the time, but all the while, I knew that deep down inside, I had carte blanche to rely on the best advocate in the world: myself.

As difficult as it is to listen to doctors who won't listen to us, it is much harder when the people who won't listen to you are closer to your heart. I'm speaking about people who are supposed to love us -- family and friends -- but they abandon or reject us during our time of greatest need. These individuals' lack of sensibility hurts us more than they know, or care to know.

When I was diagnosed with cancer and started making those dreaded phone calls, most of my friends and family were very supportive and had great empathy.

For this, I will always be grateful.

But the "C" word is so overwhelming to some, that the pain of a friend or family member rejecting me was too much to bear. One so-called friend told me he was "honored that I felt I could confide in him," and then I didn't hear from him for four months. Family who I thought would come to my aid instead refused to call me or denied my symptoms.

Equally distressing are those who stay in touch with us on our journey but out of touch with our basic needs. These individuals choose denial over the truth, in short minimize our suffering instead of acknowledging our voices of pain and anger and grief. This decision isn't out of malice; instead, it based on pure selfishness -- so they don't have to deal with the emotional and physical "mess" that comes with illness.

And as anyone with a serious ailment knows, illness is messy -- physically, emotionally, and psychologically. And, unfortunately, many people don't want to deal with the mess. Instead, they like to put things into nice, tight little packages, where they do not have to deal with the pain of their loved ones.

I'll give a few examples:

**One relative called one of my surgeries a "procedure," instead of what it actually was: surgery.

**One "friend" used my vulnerability to try to convert me to her religion. (Didn't work, so sorry.)

**Other relatives refused to call me, talk to me, or visit me. I had become somewhat of a medical pariah.

**A few people would allow me to spend hours in the hospital waiting for them to finally show up. They threw me a bone by doing some things around the house to "help" me. When I expressed my anger at having to wait for them so long to visit, they essentially said I was ungrateful.

**To this day, when I talk to a couple of family members, they do not acknowledge the cancer. One person said, "You are OVER it," while another can't even say or listen to the word "cancer." For this latter individual, all I can say is the following: "cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer."

A two-syllable word that rolls easily over the tongue, but is so difficult to digest.

This is why being your own self-advocate is so important. If a person believes that such toxic individuals will lift him or her up, then he/she is the one in denial.

It's time to call the shots in how we live our lives, and that means surrounding ourselves with supportive individuals, being supportive people ourselves, and confronting/firing those so-called well-meaning individuals who deny the very essence of our conditions.

It takes courage to do so, but then again, fighting an illness does, too.

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices'>http://www.amazon.com/Voices-Breast-Cancer-Companion-Strength/dp/1934184020/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1242657371&sr=1-1">Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com.

Don't Be Complacent

If you have a medical concern, please get it checked out as soon as you can. This is a simple idea, but it is one of the hardest things we can ask of ourselves.

We may not follow up immediately on a medical concern because we are afraid our worst nightmares will come true. It's much easier to lull ourselves into a false sense of complacency -- that whatever we are worried about is a figment of our imagination, or that we are just hypochondriacs afraid to waste a doctor's time with false alarms.

The truth is, it is easy to choose complacency when we are afraid. This is our default reaction to potentially disturbing news.

I chose two weeks of complacency after I found a very subtle dimple on my right breast during one of my routine monthly breast exams. During these two weeks, I had no peace. I kept telling myself that I wasn't really seeing anything. Wasn't that dimple always there and I failed to notice it? Wasn't it just a mirage?

Then I would cry for hours, convinced it was cancer. Then I remembered that a recent mammogram was negative and my gynecologist had given me a clean bill of health months prior. He did the breast exam and found nothing, I reassured myself, so I was just fine.

Besides, a doctor told me I was too young for cancer. I was fit and had a healthy lifestyle. I was becoming jubilant over my self-imposed diagnosis of "healthy," when a fear overcame me.

What if it really is breast cancer?

My first instinct was to tell myself that ignorance is bliss. The idea of having cancer was too terrifying to imagine. But when it comes to a possibility of any life-threatening condition, the whole ignorance-is-bliss mantra is a lie.

I realized that I had no choice but to investigate it. If it weren't cancer, my mind games would stop and I'd be reassured. If it were cancer, it would kill me if I just ignored it. At least being proactive would give me a shot at living.

So I made an appointment to see the gynecologist, who, still unconcerned and who had trouble even finding the area in question, wrote me a prescription for a mammogram at my hospital's breast center, just to be on the safe side.

Turns out, it was cancer.

And that's when I first learned the power of self-advocacy. Despite the harsh treatments and future surgeries, I am alive now -- and blogging up a storm -- because I opted to be proactive.

Some people believe that "courage" is defined as "being fearless." I disagree. To me, courage means being afraid and acting anyway, even if that means facing the darkest of truths.

Through my breast cancer journey, I realized that I am very courageous, but I realized that this is a true quality of ordinary people like me -- to do extraordinary things that are often the unthinkable.

So if you or a loved one has a medical concern, call the shots and get it checked out. It may just save a life.

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris College in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com/.

Courage in Stories

Kudos to a recent Oprah show, which profiled four celebrities: Fran Dresher, Scott Hamilton, Magic Johnson, and Montel Williams -- each who are or have been grappling with serious medical conditions.

What struck me was these individuals' candor and willingness to tell their stories. And as they shared their experiences, their faces of celebrity faded, only to be replaced with the face of humanity, gratitude, and humility. I watched, transfixed, and was really shocked at Scott Hamilton's revelation that he had recently been diagnosed with a brain tumor. He expressed his gratitude for being able to be on this Earth for as long as he has.

In his Fairfield Citizen article, "In the suburbs: Winning the battle at all costs," Steve Gaynes eloquently describes this particular show. (See the link at the end of this blog.) Like Gaynes, I found Dresher's words inspiring: "'Sometimes the best gifts come in the ugliest packages.'"

During my fight against breast cancer, I bore witness to the ugliness of illness. During hours in chemotherapy, I had a lot of time to think and reflect about my life. I was just focused on doing all I could to fight for my life. Cancer survivors would tell me that I might not feel this way now, but one day I might consider this illness a gift.

I was, like, "huh"?

So when hearing the celebrities' stories on Oprah, I realized that these individuals are speaking from a perspective different than one who is just diagnosed. Their points of view only come after years of reflection about their plights.

Eight years after my diagnosis, I, too, now see that cancer was, indeed, a gift -- a gift I didn't want in the first place -- but a gift nonetheless.

Because until I realized what it was really like to be ill, I took life for granted. I now do my best to appreciate each day and know how precious the world and my loved ones are to me. I still throw pity parties and still have to deal with the medical aftermath of my battle.

But I consider myself blessed, humbled, and very human.


http://www.fairfieldcitizenonline.com/columnists/ci_11957992

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris College in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com.