A friend recently recommended a romantic comedy to me named "Love and Other Drugs". I'm not exactly a fan of chick flicks/ romcoms, but it was moderately entertaining. Jake Gyllenhaal's character is a pharmaceutical sales rep (hence why my friend thought I'd like it- as that was one of my many careers too) who falls in love with Anne Hathaway's character- a young artist with Parkinson's disease.
Synopsis: Boy falls for girl despite her imminent debilitating illness, considers ditching her when having some insight to what the potential future of a wheelchair bound partner in adult nappies is explained to him, but of course (as happens in Hollywood movies) he decides he loves her too much, gives up his career and everything else for love. The end. Awww...
Anne Hathaway's character does, however, try to warn him many times that getting into a relationship with her would be fraught with complications due to her illness, and this knowledge changed the way she approached things. This got me thinking more about my own situation and possible future.
A few weeks ago I passed the one year mark from when I found out I had a cancerous tumour (See post "Beating the Big C"). Several months and two operations later, an initial screen suggested it hadn't grown back at that point. Although somewhat reassuring, it was also too early to really be able to draw any conclusions about "recovery" from that.
Now, another 6 months down the track, I have another screening coming up to see if the tumour is gone or has returned. This one will be a fairly good indication of whether or not I will be able to at least keep my uterus for a few years and therefore have a chance to have children. The alternative, if it has grown back, is have a hysterectomy, or don't, and let the cancer kill me.
None of these are particularly appealing options, and the other side of these considerations is what happens with any potential partners.
Even in the best case scenario, that the tumour doesn't regrow, I still carry a high risk Papilloma virus strain which caused it, which could potentially be transferred to a partner and cause penile cancer (although yes, the probability is incredibly low, do you know many men who would put their hand up for that one? In the words of Dennis Leary [although he was referring to cocaine] "Take my penis awaaay!"). This also means that, even though I may be fine for a few more years, it could always eventually grow back.
If I can't have children:
- I wouldn't want to deny anyone the opportunity to have children, if that's something they wanted, by being with me.
- Ironic as it may sound, I'm also not sure I would want to be with someone who didn't want children, even if I couldn't have them. Perhaps it's the presumed lack of empathy there would be in the relationship.
- Having had a mental illness, and how rare it is in Australia anyway, I will never be eligible to adopt.
If the cancer will develop and make me sick/ die:
- It would be downright deceptive to not tell someone what you know your future will hold, knowing how that would also affect them.
- How could you possibly expect anyone to sign up to a future with someone that will be short, unpleasant and/or full of illness? I would say its an incredibly selfish expectation, and possibly delusional to believe that you're so wonderful that your personality alone would make up for everything else.
It's all well and good for Hollywood movies to slather on the cheesy everything-will-be-fine and love-overcomes-everything storylines, but its hardly realistic. I know some people do manage to overcome some incredibly difficult situations/ illnesses, and accept each other exactly as they are, but [especially for those of us who most definitely do not look like Anne Hathaway] I would wager that 99.9% of potential partners would run in the opposite direction at top speed before you could finish the sentence "I'm a barren source of penis-cancer with a slow, painful death in my future".
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Thursday, 5 July 2012
Wednesday, 13 June 2012
Fighting with the Biological Clock
Growing up, I never thought I'd want children. In fact, the idea of having children seemed like something for breeders- dumb centrelink-queuing bogans, and something for the stupid people to do. People who had a brain, as I [ever so modestly] perceived myself to be, would grow up to be career women, and have interesting, exciting, jet-setting and, importantly- childless- lives. This was not only how I thought it would be, but how it should be.
I was the youngest child, and even youngest of all my cousins until an "accident" when I was about 10. As the accident lived about 3000 kms away though, I had very little contact with anyone younger than myself, and found kids to be loud, annoying, and didn't see why anyone would want them. I imagine this was somewhat influenced by my mother who always seemed to regret the time she had taken to have children, and the negative impact it had had on her life, career, travel aspirations etc and kept her locked in an unhappy marriage.
My involvement with children was limited to none until I moved overseas and worked as a teacher. As a 20 year old, fresh out of uni, I have to admit that my motivation to teach overseas had very little to do with wanting to teach, and more to do with providing me with the means to live overseas.
Suddenly, I had a few dozen kids aged 5- 15 giggling and running around me on a daily basis, curious to meet, see, touch and torment the first white person they'd ever seen in real life. After my initial discomfort with the alien nature of this interaction, to my surprise I not only tolerated, but enjoyed the time with the kids.
As I made friends overseas, many of whom were older than myself, I spent more time with babies and toddlers, as my friends started families.
Then as I reached about 24, an odd realisation struck me, and I found myself thinking "I would quite like a child one day". I laughed at myself when I realised how unlike me that thought was, and dismissed it almost immediately.
Much to my chagrin, when I was younger, so many people had scoffed at my attestations that I didn't want children, saying with a chuckle "just wait 'til you're older". I found it condescending, somewhat insulting to my intelligence, and disrespectful toward women who make a conscious choice not to procreate.
Now, as much as I truly hate to say it, even through gritted teeth you won't hear me utter this much: They were right.
It hasn't been a miraculous overnight epiphany; no revelation after meditative self exploration- more of an erosion of what used to be- like barnacles growing on the base of a ship, gradually changing the way its parts are able to move, dragging on it's progress through the water, almost imperceptibly slow in the changing of its course toward a new direction.
I still find myself wishing at times that I didn't want children- as being a single 30 year old woman, there are plenty of people who are only too willing to remind you that you have less than 10 years left. "Experts" who crap on at length in newspapers about how women's being "too picky" or selfish is ruining the fabric of society by not breeding on their desired schedules (See Post Don't get pregnant, won't get pregnant, can't get pregnant). Occasionally some kind person will accompany this with a comment about the biological clock or, my favourite: "Tick Tock!", with an ever so well intended clock-ticking finger gesture.
Guess what finger gesture I feel compelled to respond with?
Not wanting children would make life easier. It's one goal where there's no promotions through merit or hard work. If you say you want a job, you study, apply and work hard- you'll get it. You say you want a baby to a date and he's run out the door before you blink. The more pressure or focus you put on it, the less likely it is to happen, but forget about it altogether and it may never happen. Catch 22.
Being "that age" it seems that every week (or this week, every DAY) someone either announces their pregnancy or gives birth. As happy as I am for my friends, there's this overwhelming sense of envy that it's not me and anxiety that, especially since the cancer, it may never be.
I used to laugh at the "pathetic" women I would see cry around babies, or when talking about them, and now, at work today when another person made their joyous announcement, I have become one.
Karma is a fickle bitch.
I was the youngest child, and even youngest of all my cousins until an "accident" when I was about 10. As the accident lived about 3000 kms away though, I had very little contact with anyone younger than myself, and found kids to be loud, annoying, and didn't see why anyone would want them. I imagine this was somewhat influenced by my mother who always seemed to regret the time she had taken to have children, and the negative impact it had had on her life, career, travel aspirations etc and kept her locked in an unhappy marriage.
My involvement with children was limited to none until I moved overseas and worked as a teacher. As a 20 year old, fresh out of uni, I have to admit that my motivation to teach overseas had very little to do with wanting to teach, and more to do with providing me with the means to live overseas.
Suddenly, I had a few dozen kids aged 5- 15 giggling and running around me on a daily basis, curious to meet, see, touch and torment the first white person they'd ever seen in real life. After my initial discomfort with the alien nature of this interaction, to my surprise I not only tolerated, but enjoyed the time with the kids.
As I made friends overseas, many of whom were older than myself, I spent more time with babies and toddlers, as my friends started families.
Then as I reached about 24, an odd realisation struck me, and I found myself thinking "I would quite like a child one day". I laughed at myself when I realised how unlike me that thought was, and dismissed it almost immediately.
Much to my chagrin, when I was younger, so many people had scoffed at my attestations that I didn't want children, saying with a chuckle "just wait 'til you're older". I found it condescending, somewhat insulting to my intelligence, and disrespectful toward women who make a conscious choice not to procreate.
Now, as much as I truly hate to say it, even through gritted teeth you won't hear me utter this much: They were right.
It hasn't been a miraculous overnight epiphany; no revelation after meditative self exploration- more of an erosion of what used to be- like barnacles growing on the base of a ship, gradually changing the way its parts are able to move, dragging on it's progress through the water, almost imperceptibly slow in the changing of its course toward a new direction.
I still find myself wishing at times that I didn't want children- as being a single 30 year old woman, there are plenty of people who are only too willing to remind you that you have less than 10 years left. "Experts" who crap on at length in newspapers about how women's being "too picky" or selfish is ruining the fabric of society by not breeding on their desired schedules (See Post Don't get pregnant, won't get pregnant, can't get pregnant). Occasionally some kind person will accompany this with a comment about the biological clock or, my favourite: "Tick Tock!", with an ever so well intended clock-ticking finger gesture.
Guess what finger gesture I feel compelled to respond with?
Not wanting children would make life easier. It's one goal where there's no promotions through merit or hard work. If you say you want a job, you study, apply and work hard- you'll get it. You say you want a baby to a date and he's run out the door before you blink. The more pressure or focus you put on it, the less likely it is to happen, but forget about it altogether and it may never happen. Catch 22.
Being "that age" it seems that every week (or this week, every DAY) someone either announces their pregnancy or gives birth. As happy as I am for my friends, there's this overwhelming sense of envy that it's not me and anxiety that, especially since the cancer, it may never be.
I used to laugh at the "pathetic" women I would see cry around babies, or when talking about them, and now, at work today when another person made their joyous announcement, I have become one.
Karma is a fickle bitch.
Monday, 5 March 2012
Beating the Big C.
I was supposed to get my pathology results on Thursday, but instead they arrived on Friday. I understand that while the Drs probably saw the result, and thought that since it came back clear, there was no urgent need to tell me to book in for more surgery etc, as the "patient" and since it's my body, I would like to be informed in a timely manner that I no longer have detectable cancer cells where my adenocarcinoma used to be!
Anyhow, with that news now [eventually] received I cannot express the relief.
I've been at work full time throughout the process, minus a few days post surgery each time, partly because it's a good distraction from what's happening. At work on Friday afternoon, after receiving the good news, I was half laughing at myself because every time it struck my mind I got this uncontrollable urge to start crying. At least my desk faces a window/ corner, and not other staff.
I can imagine how that conversation would go (if seen crying by colleagues):
" Oh are you ok?!"
"Yes, actually... yes I am!"
*other staff dismiss as completely insane*
I think it's just that the "what if"s have been spinning through my head and weighing heavily for so many months now, and I've been trying to hard to hold it all together: continue as normal, work, talk to people like a normal human being, not show what's going on -because I really didn't know, and the pressure of having to explain it to others might just tip me off the brink of "coping" down the other side (great sentence there I know, but I can't be bothered fixing it). And now all that is over, so the flood gates open.
There have been so many times where I've wanted to say something, scream at people, cry or go catatonic for a while. One situation was that a colleague was talking about her personal challenges trying to have another baby by IVF (her first two children were conceived by IVF as well). Comments like "last time they implanted two embryos and one didn't take, so to us, as Christians, that's a soul- it's the same as losing a baby, even though our one beautiful healthy daughter was born... and now other other embryos we had from that cycle have been deemed not viable, so we've lost 5 more children.".
Oh how much I would have loved to tell her to go jump- that I was possibly about to lose my uterus and any possibility of having children, and/or possibly even my own life when she already has two kids, a happy family and... and... just STFU with your self-centred whinging will you! I won't even get into the irrationality of the religious aspect of her "suffering" (today)!
It's funny how you can even feel like your cancer isn't bad enough/ good enough to warrant sympathy. The other day a friend announced she's now successfully in remission a year after having a brain tumour removed.... two days before I got my diagnosis. While I have been very fortunate to not have gone through radio or chemotherapy- just two surgeries to remove the cancer- I wouldn't say it's been easy or insignificant, yet I felt that compared to her, what I've been through is nothing and perhaps I shouldn't be celebrating my recovery as much as hers, or I'm less entitled to feel such elation perhaps.
All I know is it's probably a different experience for everyone, and I'm glad it's over for now.
Saturday, 28 January 2012
Cancer, and the loss of hope
In mid 2011 I got a surprise I wasn't expecting and certainly didn't want. I had a cancerous tumour inside me.
Albeit non-invasive and possibly surgically removed, 2 operations and 8 months later I am not sure if it's "gone". The next screen is in late February.
For a very open, and often overly honest person, I have been very reluctant to talk about this for a number of reasons, but what the hell- according to the stats, no one is actually reading this shit anyway!
1- I don't know what to say. Am I ok would probably be the question? Well.. physically, I dont know if it's gone, and mentally- I don't know if it's gone (and hence all the implications that come with that)!
2- How people might treat you- the "oh poor you" shit, and having to have that pity overtake everything. I don't want to have to talk about it all the time or see it in people's eyes when I talk to them.
3- Stigma around the type of cancer. It is cervical cancer, so gynaecological, which means that you're already talking about highly personal areas, and then there's the "oh, that's the sluts' disease right?" (yes I have actually heard people talk about it in that way) aka you DESERVE it. Do you engage them in a whole debate as to how you only need one partner etc to get it, knowing that it won't change their mind and you remain the skanky ho-bag with the manky private parts?
People's misunderstandings are marvellous- the "oh, but everyone gets an abnormal pap smear" yes, about 70% will at some point in their life, and 99% will get some form of HPV. Most of them will go away without every needing any treatment. I did not have this situation- I got to pass Go, do not collect $200, and head straight to cancer.
The implications are a fun set, from [if it's not gone] the next stage being a full hysterectomy- meaning I will never be able to have children, to the knowledge that I could potentially infect partners and give them penile cancer etc (although the probabilities of that are less than 1%) or may have already unknowingly done so. Brings back memories of Eddie Murphy's Delerious sketch "what's next, you put your dick in and it explodes?".
Or do you choose option b: not have treatment, and let the cancer eat you? Life expectancy would be approximately 10 years- but would you want to live, if it means giving up the hope of a family and everything you wanted anyway?
Albeit non-invasive and possibly surgically removed, 2 operations and 8 months later I am not sure if it's "gone". The next screen is in late February.
For a very open, and often overly honest person, I have been very reluctant to talk about this for a number of reasons, but what the hell- according to the stats, no one is actually reading this shit anyway!
1- I don't know what to say. Am I ok would probably be the question? Well.. physically, I dont know if it's gone, and mentally- I don't know if it's gone (and hence all the implications that come with that)!
2- How people might treat you- the "oh poor you" shit, and having to have that pity overtake everything. I don't want to have to talk about it all the time or see it in people's eyes when I talk to them.
3- Stigma around the type of cancer. It is cervical cancer, so gynaecological, which means that you're already talking about highly personal areas, and then there's the "oh, that's the sluts' disease right?" (yes I have actually heard people talk about it in that way) aka you DESERVE it. Do you engage them in a whole debate as to how you only need one partner etc to get it, knowing that it won't change their mind and you remain the skanky ho-bag with the manky private parts?
People's misunderstandings are marvellous- the "oh, but everyone gets an abnormal pap smear" yes, about 70% will at some point in their life, and 99% will get some form of HPV. Most of them will go away without every needing any treatment. I did not have this situation- I got to pass Go, do not collect $200, and head straight to cancer.
The implications are a fun set, from [if it's not gone] the next stage being a full hysterectomy- meaning I will never be able to have children, to the knowledge that I could potentially infect partners and give them penile cancer etc (although the probabilities of that are less than 1%) or may have already unknowingly done so. Brings back memories of Eddie Murphy's Delerious sketch "what's next, you put your dick in and it explodes?".
Or do you choose option b: not have treatment, and let the cancer eat you? Life expectancy would be approximately 10 years- but would you want to live, if it means giving up the hope of a family and everything you wanted anyway?
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