More From the Underworld

I had the impression after being diagnosed,that the world around me changed, almost as if there had been some suttle but impressive shifting of the layers of earth upon which I walked everyday. The "new" layout of the land had for the most part been there all along, but now it was slightly altered. My mortality, which had always been a given, now seemed to be a strange bridegroom that I was completely unready for. I now moved through my world with a new identity and I was sure everyone could see it, like a note pinned to my chest. "Cancer Patient," the note said. In case anyone missed the note, I was happy to share the news. I've never been great sitting on a secret. But this was also something more. I felt desperate. I wanted to shout the news so that maybe someone, anyone, might tell me, " Wake up, miss. You've been having some crazy dream and you're drooling on yourself." But in telling people I had cancer, I discovered a connected underworld of experiences and little stories that people told me back. It's true that having cancer is devastating, but I found it amazing that there was this undercurrent that had developed that flowed back against the loss, and I became aware of this from the first person I told who was a total stranger. My friend Steve and I were in Harvard Square on a sunny June Saturday, two days after my diagnosis. If you know Harvard Square, you know you don't have to pay for entertainment on a day like this. There were the chess players stationed at their cement tables outside of Au Bon Pain. The homeless kids shook their paper cups of coins,leaning against the wall of the bank. A white haired man played jazz guitar next to the newspaper vending machines, never lifting his eyes up to see who might be listening. Near the newsstand another man played Peruvian flute, his CDs splayed out for sale on a colorful blanket in front of him. Across the street people sat on a brick wall outside a cafe, passing time and being entertained by a young woman with henna painted hands and a sarong that fell below her plump belly and hips, which she gyrated in a provocative dance. The sensuality of the dance seemed slightly out of place on this sidewalk venue, even more so because of the lack of music to accompany her. Onlookers seemed hesitant to put money in the felt cap she'd placed on the ground. I admired her audacity but felt awkward for her at the same time. Audaciousness won me over and I placed a dollar in the cap. Then I rejoined Steve at the brick wall. After a few minutes we continued a slow stroll when a young woman sitting on the wall holding a handwritten cardboard sign caught my eye. She had the look of a well kept student, most likely Harvard. Her freckled face was beaming broadly as she waved her sign. A young man sitting next to her seemed to be her companion. On the sign was written "Will talk about anything for free." Steve and I looked at each other and chuckled. When I looked back at her she wasted no time asking me, "Would you like to talk?" Enjoying the playfulness of the moment, I said, "Sure." She was no beginner at the art of conversation, quickly taking the lead before any awkwardness set in. We started off with "Where are you from?" and she divulged as much as she inquired. I asked her if she was doing this for some type of research or school project and she looked at me directly when she said no. I believed her, for the most part, although it was certainly unusual. The young man at her side listened in but did not join our conversation, and Steve took a spot behind her on the brick wall. The conversation stayed easy but light for a few minutes and I felt impressed by the natural ease with which she was able to "talk about anything for free." There was a genuine warmness with which she engaged me and I had the impression of her as being far more open and also comfortable in her own skin, in spite of her youth, than most people. Then she asked me, "So, is there anything in particular you want to discuss, or anything you want advice on? Anything on your mind?" Steve shifted his position behind her and muttered, "Oh boy," causing both the young woman and her companion to glance his way, then back at me. "Well, funny you should ask," I said. And I told her. " I just got diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma. That's on my mind quite a lot." Her face took on such a genuine look of concern at what I'd said that I felt touched. Her companion looked equally concerned, for the first time registering his reaction. I felt slightly guilty for burdening these two young strangers with my bad news. But on the other hand, maybe the message on the cardboard sign she'd reached out to me with meant exactly what it said. "Its not a horrible cancer to have," I said. "Its curable. I have a good chance." But she surprised me. "My father just finished six months of chemo treatment," she said. "Well, how's he doing now?" I asked her. I wanted her to tell me he was ok. I didn't want to hear any other answer. "He's doing great," she said. I exhaled. "Oh, that's great! That's awesome." "I hope you do great too."she said. " You seem to have a good attitude." We spoke a few minutes longer. I told her that I loved that she was out here with her little sign. I thought it was so bold and unique. "Well, most people just look at me strangely and walk by." "I think it's a great idea," I said. "You have a great vibe about you. Your'e out here just spreading the love." I knew I was starting to sound like an old hippie, but it was the best I could come up with. What I really meant was that she was so incredibly beautiful and full of life and that she had been such a real pleasure to talk to. We said goodbyes. "You should make your own sign and do this too," she said as Steve and I walked away. I laughed. God, I wish I had that kind of moxy.

The Cancer Underworld

I was looking forward to seeing Maria. It had been over two years. Traveling in different circles, we'd lost touch. Then I heard she'd been diagnosed with gastric cancer and was undergoing treatment. I'd spoken to her on the phone once to wish her encouragement. She sounded like the same spunky little Italian spitfire she'd always been, telling me how she was getting through it all in an accent particular to Rhode Islanders. About two weeks after we spoke I found a lump in my neck that I knew right away was all wrong. In another week after that I was calling Maria back to share the irony that I too had cancer. "We need to get together soon," she said. She invited Steve, our mutual, long time friend, and I, for a small barbeque the following weekend. Maria and Lou live in a really beautiful place in Barrington, right on the bay. Steve and I were the last of several couples to arrive, and we quickly split up, me staying in the kitchen with the girls, and Steve wandering out to the back deck where the men warmed themselves in the glow of the barbecue. Maria looked thin but pretty as always, and wore a girlish pink Indian style top. She hugged me and then wasted no time introducing me to the three women in the room. "And this is Cheryl" she said, nodding to the medium set blond sitting on a bar stool next to me. "She's a survivor." A survivor. This was a term I was going to become intimately familiar with. I would think about it's meaning in whole new ways from the moment I sat down to take my first chemotherapy treatment. But more on that later. Right now I was being introduced to a "survivor" and as a newly diagnosed cancer patient (argh! I am beginning to identify as a CANCER PATIENT! More on that later too...)I wanted to meet her and all the other survivors too. The more survivors I met the less terrified I'd be. I did not feel intrusive when I shook Cheryl's hand and asked without blinking, "What kind?" "Breast," she said. "Nine years out." I felt an immediate connection to this woman, as if we were both members of some secret club. I don't know if she felt the same, because we didn't talk much after that. Maria had had a gastrectomy as part of her treatment, and the women were trying to get diet tips off her. They were laughing about it the way old friends find small bits of humor in each others wreckage.

Newbie

I'm new to both blogging and cancer. I know blogging's been around for a while now, but I never really had much curiosity about it. Cancer has been around even longer but I've generally tried to avoid that completely. But here I am now, with Stage two Hodgkins Lymphoma, blogging away like a newborn blog evangelist. Right now blogging seems like a fine pastime and I think cancer before blogging was really missing something, sort of like cell phones before texting. Finding out you have cancer is a frightening thing. You can do two things, really. Keep it on the down low, do your treatments and get on with your own private life with only your closest ones around you for support, sworn to secrecy. I come from a big Irish family and that was'nt going to happen. When I found out about my cancer I just told my sister and my brother, and within three hours I had cousins and friends calling I hadn't heard from in years. Last night my neighbor slipped a nice little card under my door, "Saw your son on the way out last night, let me know if there's anything you need." Then of course I had to tell my boss, and there's the people at work wondering where you've been. Well, jeez, you don't want to get people gossiping and speculating, might as well tell them the truth. Jesus, I have Hodkins Lymphoma. That's what I tell anyone whose asking now. And I find, in the telling, my heart feels a little less heavy. Sure, sometimes they look at me with horror and barely masked pity- often especially younger people in their 20s and 30s find diseases like this way too upsetting and cruel (although I have also had some really inspirational exchanges with this age group which I plan to write about in later blogs). So the word is now officially out, and for me, that's a good thing. It's a heart that's lighter, not having to carry it alone. What I have found in the process of telling is that there is a whole Cancer Underworld out there. The more people I've told, the more people tell me a little story back. There is a connection between people who suffer a common enemy that is empowering and so flippin' crucial. That connection is the Royal Jelly of the beehive. We will survive, hell yes! We will survive through our stories, tweets and blogs, and our answers to the question, "Hey, anybody out there, can you hear me?"