Cancer Friends

So one of the perks of finding out you have the Big C is becoming part of a new network of people (aka the "Survivors").  From the moment you are diagnosed, you are given a VIP card to enter into one of the most exclusive clubs in the world, the Cancer Club (CC).  Now, now, I know you all want to join, but I warn you, membership comes at a hefty price.  So I suggest you stick with Facebook or Linkedin even though I'm sure you'd like to see what happens behind our little velvet rope.  I have to admit, I was tentative to join.  People tried to recruit me by giving me countless numbers and emails of various sisters, cousins, friends, friend's dog's cousin's owner's friends, etc., but I resisted until one fateful night around a week before my surgery I broke down.  Now you would think that I would call one of the wonderful referrals that I received from people I knew, but being part of the age of technology, I opted for the anonymity of the online world.  Yes, little did you know that the Big C has all kinds of online networks for both young and old, male and female. Websites like planetcancer.org and youngsurvival.org let you link up with all kinds of people who have also received their VIP card in the mail and are waiting to give you an e-hug.  So there I was logged on to youngsurvival.org (the Young Survivors Coalition's website), which caters to pre-menopausal women diagnosed with breast cancer, frantically seeking someone to share my insanity with.  I don't remember exactly what I wrote that fateful night, but it was some tearful, panicked note about being overwhelmed and not having any idea what was going on.  As promised by the bylaws of the CC, this little note sent callously into the online universe was met with encouraging words and gentle reminders to remember to breathe (funny how you seem to forget to do that the first few weeks after finding out).  Now since my first foray behind the velvet rope of CC, I have since made some wonderful real-life friends who have proven to be an invaluable resource throughout my treatment, so please let me introduce you.  First, there is History Buff, a history PhD student at Columbia who finished her treatment over a year ago, and has always answered the phone to reassure me that I'm not in fact going crazy.  Next, there is BadAss, a fellow smart mouthed (she is smart mouthed, I am only mouthed) single girl who manages to continue doing social work in a retirement home even though her treatment is making her sicker than her 80 year old patients.  And finally there is Superhero, my chemo buddy (she changed her treatment schedule to match mine so that we can sit and gossip while we're hooked up to the drugs), who despite having the lowest blood count on the planet, manages to have more energy than my 6 year old brother.  Now I ask you, please don't be jealous.  These friends are actually crucial to helping me maintain the relationships that I already have by relieving some of the burden on my loved ones and keeping me from abusing those who care for me.  You see, these are the people I can be brutally honest with because they understand that my snippiness is not directed at them, but at my disease, and they can't take it personally because they snap right back.  We can also laugh together through our baldness, the scars and the spaciness, and pretend that our chemo sessions are cocktail hours.  Now I know what you're thinking, after all this, you desperately want a tour of CC's central clubhouse.  All I can say is I'd rather not show you.  You see, this is one of the few clubs in the world that welcomes you by saying, "I'm so sorry that you have to be here, but since you're here, welcome."  Frankly, that's a welcome speech I'd rather not give to you.

Thanks as always for reading.

Straight from the trenches,

DT