I haven’t begun treatment. No chemotherapy, no radiation, no surgery. My Oncologists say the cancer swimming through my veins “isn’t that bad yet”. I have all of my blonde hair. I haven’t lost a significant amount of weight. My Irish skin isn’t completely dried out. The soft outlines of my lips aren’t chapped. I have reached an understanding with the dark circles that developed under my eyes, my eyes that are the color of the sea following a storm. And, I do have scars.
A rare form of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma has left its imperfect mark on my body. Asymmetrical shape. Border irregularity. Color changes. Diameter larger than 1/4 inch. Texture. Itchiness. All the signs of Melanoma. A diagnosis that for some reason felt less scary, one I had prepared myself for. A shave biopsy was done on the lesion that graces the left side of my thigh, the dark coloration standing out against the backdrop of my pale skin. More biopsies are taken, as we find more and more of these lesions all over my body, as dozens more eyes fall on my naked body. Those scars don’t stick out quite as much because they’re surrounded by freckles and are smaller in size. Pathology says it isn’t Melanoma. It was something else. Something I hadn’t prepared myself for. Something my Primary Care Physician had not even heard of. Something that my Oncologist referred me to a specialist for care.
Still, by looking at my scars, one wouldn’t know that I am actively fighting cancer. People are surprised to hear that I have cancer, and often say “You don’t look like it.”. By their tone I can assume they mean that as a compliment, but to me it feels like an invalidation of this experience. I often fantasize about apologizing to them and asking what they would prefer I look like. But self-control keeps those comments under lock and key.
In those moments I wish fear could create a scar. I wish there were scars for every time I felt betrayed by my body. I wish there were scars for each medical bill I received in the mail. I wish there were scars for each tear my daughter or sister or mother or boyfriend has cried because of both the unknown, and what little is known about my specific subtype of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Maybe then I would “look like I have cancer”.
My daughter has what is often referred to as an “invisible chronic illness”. I’ve witnessed the lack of empathy and belief that she has encountered her whole life by everyone from medical professionals to employers, friends, even family. I know how hard that was on her mental health. Those experiences are now shared, since I’ve been diagnosed with cancer, and it doesn’t physically manifest the way that people are familiar with.
Just today my Oncology team is recommending that I get surgery or begin radiation therapy. I have a follow up appointment with my specialists in two weeks so we can make that decision and create a plan from there. Maybe then the validation and understanding will come from people. Maybe that scar on my leg needs to be larger and deeper. Maybe I need the radiation burns to surround the original scarring. Maybe then I’ll have “earned” the title of survivor.
Hopefully as you read this you sense the cynicism; you taste the sarcasm. I’m only being half serious. I write to share my uncensored thoughts and feelings because perhaps I’m not the only one who has ever felt this way. Maybe you, too, struggle with the scars that aren’t there. Cancer is life changing whether it appears that way, or not. The invisible scars are enough of a battle to be a survivor of Cancer.
Leave a comment below. Remember to keep it positive!
This was beautifully written and SO real.