“Fuck OFF!!!”
Cancer, privacy and the protection of children.
I went to bed last night with the news that the Princess of Wales is having treatment for cancer.
My gut reaction on seeing her video message was a wish to scream “Fuck OFF!!!” loudly, publicly - not at her, but at the world, on her behalf. I know not whether this is what she feels deep down; I know only it is how I would feel in her shoes.
I cannot even begin to imagine how it is to live her life – at any time, let alone just now - under the microscope of public scrutiny where every Tom, Dick and Harriet has an opinion and is hell bent on making it known. What tugged at me - deep down inside my gut - was her need to protect her children.
I was taken back to October 2018 when I was diagnosed with vulval cancer . My immediate thoughts were my children. Not young children – all adults, all independent, all living away from home. But still, and always, my children. That wish to protect them, keep them safe, does not leave when they make their own way in the world.
As I began to process the news, to understand what this meant, to catastrophise (I’m going to die – a year, maybe five, tops … ) what dominated my very being was my children. Accompanied by my sister, I took to the road to break the news to each of them – face to face. From South Wales, to Swindon, to the Midlands and the North East of England. To tell each of them I loved them, that I would be ok, not to worry, that cancer is no biggie – just look around at all our loved ones who had been through this. And we had been through it. Joseph, my son, himself, just 8 months clear after chemo; their dad – more than 10 years clear after surgery; their grandad, clear 15 years after radiotherapy.
As I went through surgery, recovered, heard news of the spread, more surgery – I wanted to protect my children, keep them safe – not least from the turmoil churning inside me as I tried to just get through each day, make sense of my life, my future. The gut-wrenching anxiety diminished over time. I’m still here, living well, with the ever-present uncertainty of where those pesky cancerous cells might be lurking. It doesn’t dominate my life – but it is there – the regular check-ups a constant marker.
Cancer remains an evolving part of our lives – my dad is currently undergoing radiotherapy for prostate cancer, and both he and my mum are having ongoing regular treatment and check-ups to keep their skin cancer at bay. Each new diagnosis instils anxiety, mitigated by the passing of time and the fact that our loved ones are still alive and kicking and sharing in our lives.
But cancer is now a part of everyone’s life; not a single person will be untouched by a cancer diagnosis. While all the evidence is of earlier detection, new treatments, better survival rates – it cannot take away that automatic, immediate, existential threat that many experience when they hear “you have cancer”. How we react, cope, manage our lives is unique and personal to each of us. There is no right or wrong way. We each have the right to say:
“fuck off – I’ll do this my way!”
I chose to share part of my journey, as many others have chosen to do. Our reasons for doing so vary. For me, if I am honest, it was purely selfish - it was my way of coping. There were spin-offs such as raising awareness and reducing stigma. But it was my choice to make public what many choose to deal with in private. No-one should have that choice removed, overridden. NOBODY should have to do this under the microscope of public scrutiny, in the glare of the cameras.
I had planned to end my post there. Given I was writing about something very personal to my mum and dad, I messaged them:
My dad, age 80, mentioned above, recently diagnosed with prostate cancer, replied. I asked if I could add his comments to my post. I do so, unapologetically, here:
You can read more about my cancer journey here:
The sorry state of my lady parts ….
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Photo by Erik Mclean at https://www.pexels.com/