We recently finished up Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy (you can hear an interview with the author on NPR’s Fresh Air). In this book, Grealy accounts her bout with cancer and how the surgeries took their toll on how she looked physically.
Grealy writes about how being in the hospital made her special, made her stand out, be the star. People paid attention to her. When her 2 1/2 years of chemo were over, her mother asked her if she was happy. She put on a brave face and said she was but when she reflects on it, she wasn’t happy that her moment of stardom was over.
She writes, “As hard as it was to admit this to myself, I was afraid of it ending, of everything changing. I wouldn’t be special anymore; no one would love me. Without the arena of chemotherapy in which to prove myself, how would anyone know I was worthy of love?” (136)
I wonder how many of us feel that way with our own traumatic experiences. I’ll be honest about this. When I found out I had cancer, I was sad. But it also felt really, really good to know that my family rallied around me. It was nice to get virtual hugs and support here.
When I write about the abuse I went through, the poverty we lived in, and the various events that litter my life, it feels good to hear readers give me support.
Would I want to live through any of that again? No. But there is also some part of me that equates trauma with love. If I’m hurting, I get loved more. It’s not a conscious thought but I feel more love when I’m hurting. People remember to tell you more then.
During my last surgery for cancer, I felt like a fraud. We catch my cancer early, before it can spread. I’m relatively well off compared to people who have to do chemo and radiation. I have chunks of skin taken out (which can be traumatic) but it is nothing like chemo. Whenever I wrote about it, it was double-edged. I wanted the support but I felt horrible – feeling like I was milking this thing for more than it was worth. Or, maybe more appropriately, more than I was worth.
I don’t want to be a victim or a survivor or any other word/language that is associated with someone who has dealt with large levels of trauma in his/her life. I am, though. I have. And trying to find love outside of that is always a challenge. I’m not sure what non-traumatic love feels like.
In my latest battle with I didn’t tell anyone. It was caught VERY early (rather by luck) and I was able to get a new and very advanced form of radiation treatment that is only offered in one or two places in the world and only for vary specific cases. So My treatments were more of a minor inconvenience that left me feeling a bit ill and sore (ok, I was yacking and ever joint hurt, but still…). Nothing like chemo 20 years ago and nothing I couldn’t hide, even from the people I live with…
I didn’t want the attention, the concern, the focus, of it all. When you are in chemo/getting surgery your life is turned upside down and everything revolves around your treatments and how shitty you may be feeling. A piss poor way to live.
I remember all to well the oddly empty feeling of being done with chemo all those years ago. How I felt like I was just another person, not as deserving of attention now that I was “healthy”.
I’m waiting to hear how the treatments went, getting a scan in a couple days. Hope its all done because if it’s not then I’ll have to do chemo and I just don’t want the extreme changes that come with it. I will if I have to, there is still too much to live for to give up now. I can handle the sickness better then I can the other changes.
Have you read Terry Tempest Williams, “Refugue”? She ties together stories of the Great Salt Lake with her mother’s battle with cancer–it’s a very powerful book. I don’t know what it would be like to battle cancer even though I know so many who have.
i think that wanting love and care and being able to acknowledge when we need that is important and while i have not personally ever had a life threatening disease, you bet your ass i would want love and support!!
and when others are going through stuff, i want to give love and support … maybe these
are the things that make show us our true humanity, our good humanity. it is never selfish
to want love and care i think …
This was beautifully honest. I can’t relate completely, but I admit I’ve had similar feelings in the past. I think many of us feel or have felt (for whatever reason) that we aren’t worthy of love unless something “bad” happens to us. I’ve discovered (although I have to keep reminding myself) that this isn’t true, that I should never feel bad for wanting and needing love, no matter what situation I’m in. Whether I’m happy or sad, healthy or sick, I deserve love. And in situations where things are “good” or “bad,” there is no shame in asking for it. There is no shame in needing other people to be my strength and encouragement when I’m not feeling it myself. The people who know me and love me won’t ever judge me for that–even if I’m moaning and groaning and throwing myself a pity-party in the process.