Last weekend, I met some amazing people and made some new friends. I was at the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, and one of only a handful of Survivors in our purple t-shirts. I was the youngest Survivor there, by at least 30 years, when suddenly 7 other "young" people my age arrived and joined us, all in their purple shirts. They invited me to join their group, because I'm sure it was pretty obvious that I was feeling pretty isolated and trying to find my niche. That's pretty much what it's been like the last 2 1/2 years since that first doctor's appointment. Feeling like I didn't have a group to belong to, no one to relate. I ended up joining those young Survivors and some others that night for dinner and beers, and I'm looking forward to getting to know them better!
So as great as that experience has been, that wasn't actually my point of this post. What the experience brought up for me is the title: "Survivor". Sure, it is a word I've used to describe myself plenty of times: cancer survivor, deployment survivor, suicide loss survivor. Always, the word "survivor" was tied to that qualifying noun. I couldn't just be a survivor without the rest of the description. In college, I must have belted out Gloria Gaynor's hit a million times with my sorority sisters. But I've never thought of all that it means; never used the title Survivor (yes, with a capital S). I've never contemplated how that one word shapes my life, my world, my place in it, and how I view it.
It's no secret: I'm a tough bitch. I've always been strong and hide any kind of weakness. I've been through so much, if I showed all my cracks, I'd look like an ancient Ming vase that has been tossed from the Great Wall. But... Did you think I'd crumble? Did you think I'd lay down and die? Nope. Just not in my nature. No, not I! But damnit if there aren't days when I want to. But that's just not what I do.
However, something about the title of Survivor has made me stop and think. In many ways, I kind of feel unworthy of the title. I mean...I just did what I had to do with decisions/events that were beyond my control. Does that deserve special recognition? Very few people I know would just roll over and give up when faced with the challenges I've had. On the flipside of the coin, YES, I do deserve the title and the pride that goes with it. I faced down situations that not many people, especially at my age, have to endure. And to have been through what I've seen at this age - I've had three lifetimes of heartache. More than enough for anyone. So yes, I have earned the title, the pride, the recognition. I wouldn't wish these battles on anyone. It's not a title I wanted, but damnit, it's mine now and I'm going to embrace it.
Back to last weekend...do you have any idea how refreshing it is to be able to talk about your diagnosis? To be in a group of people who understand, who aren't afraid to ask, and who don't clam up when you say "cervical cancer"? (Yes, it's a totally taboo subject still, which drives me crazy. And damnit, I just realized the clam pun, but I find it kind of funny and I'm leaving it. I'm a little depraved.) To have an open, honest conversation with someone who understands....I've never had that before. To be able to openly discuss how it felt, how lost it can make you feel, the guilt, the fear, the relief....HONEST discussion without judgment. In fact, one of the guys I met even asked me bluntly, "HPV?" And there was no shame or fear of talking about it. (Although I still don't feel like a qualified source to speak on HPV and it's correlation to cervical cancer. My diagnosis was a rare, aggressive, non-HPV strain.) And that is how we're going to win the war on cancer: by talking about it.
In some ways, I feel unworthy of my new friends. I've been very lucky. At the time of my diagnosis, I was married and had the support of my hubby. I already had the Moose. The loss of my reproductive system was not something I mourned, I already felt complete. I didn't have to undergo months of chemo. I have no port scars. Essentially, my treatment was complete in one radical surgery. We all know that wasn't the end of it...it still isn't. There is still the fear at annual checkups. Anytime I have a sore boob, I freak out. (Which is often, thanks to overdoing it at the gym a lot.) Just because I've fought and won once, I'm not immune to it in the future. That still scares me. When I think about all that this group of young people has been through, I am simultaneously in awe of them and grateful I've found them.
So, in honor of my new friends, I leave you all with this:
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