The title of this post is stolen from a blog I follow. I found it, because it's written by an American living in London, but that's not what the blog is about. The author lost a baby at full term, and has written deeply and movingly (that sounds so patronising and cliched and I don't mean it to) about that. Now she has a second baby, and is navigating life in the new-baby-new-mummy world.
I don't want to compare life after cancer with life after losing a baby. It's a wrong comparison. But some of what she has written recently has resonated with me. I absolutely love the title of the blog. "Finding my new normal". It just seems to encapsulate so much. When we moved back here to Britain last summer, we started a new chapter, in a new place, among new people. We were building a new normal. I had a choice, have a choice, whether to tell anyone about going through cancer. Or not.
I've chosen not to. It wasn't a decision made in advance: "I'm not going to tell anyone". No. It's just that it never quite felt like the moment. There's one person here who I knew before we came here, and she knows, and maybe that one person is enough. I see her often, and we have hardly ever talked about cancer, but perhaps it's enough that I know I could. I did share with her the details of my recent health scare (investigative procedure didn't find anything nasty, but still awaiting lab results to confirm, thanks for asking). Perhaps this is the ideal situation. Just one person, a person I can trust, who I can talk to if I need to. And of course I can always share what I want to on the subject on my blog. That must make a difference.
I suppose part of it is a desire to be free of that label. I want to be me first, and a breast cancer person second (notice I didn't use that word "survivor" which I really loathe). It's not that it's a secret. I'm not afraid of telling people. I'm far enough on now, that it doesn't dominate my life. I can talk about it without it being too overwhelming. It's just that if you don't tell a new friend early on, then it would feel a bit odd when you do tell them. It somehow takes the conversation, and maybe the relationship, into a different register.
It feels good that "I've had cancer" is no longer the top of the list of my daily mental agenda. Perhaps that's why I haven't told people. I don't want it to be. Perhaps I'm afraid that if I tell them, then it will ratchet back up the list a little. Would the casual "How are you?" be weighted with a little more significance? Will I have to say "I'm fine" with a little more emphasis than I usually do?
I'm at the point where I'd be happy to be in a supportive role to someone else going through the same experience. I know that, because I've recently heard of someone with a breast cancer diagnosis, about to start chemotherapy, and I've sent a message, opening the door to further contact, if that is what she wants. I said "it's not a secret, but it's not something I talk about very much". And that is where I am. It's easy to see how something like a cancer history could become a dark secret, and I don't want that. It's nothing to be ashamed of. One in eight women are going to go through it at some point in their lives (are you doing self-examinations, ladies? ONE IN EIGHT...). But I don't want to bang the drum, either. I'm not that woman who is throwing herself into fundraising, campaigning, getting involved. I don't want it to become my identity.
I like "my new normal", actually. I like being a normal person. I did terribly miss normal life, when I was going through the valley of the shadow of cancer. I expect that's why I haven't told people. I like being normal again.
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Or normal as you ever were.....;o) actually it's just those sorts of situations which make one long for normal,however seemingly dull, bland, boring & damning that label may be.
ReplyDeleteI totally understand.
ReplyDeleteI, too, long for normal. If my life ever goes back there, I don't think I will be telling everybody about my experience either - although, as you say, if it's someone who's going through a similar thing, it's a bit different.
Awwww, you're too sweet.
ReplyDeleteThat's the thing about moving, you get a fresh start. So many people get so caught up in the chaos and upheaval that they forget it can also be a great chance for a new normal.
Your post reminds me of grief. I experienced a terrible loss in my late teens and spent many years wishing life were 'normal' again, wishing as you say, that the topic wasn't at the top of my mental agenda all the time. Eventually I knew Iw as moving through that when I was able to talk to others about it and help them through similar. I know it's not the same as your experience, but I think I understand. And you say it so well.
ReplyDeleteI've written a recipe post for you :)
Great words as ever, Mrs Normal.
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Josephine xxx
You really have a wonderful way with words Iota. And I can totally relate to what you say about whether you should bring up the cancer that is in your past with new friends that you are making in a new place. And like you say, if you don't mention it in the beginning of a friendship it kind of seems weird to mention it later on. There again moving to a new place, meeting new people and starting with something like "Hi. my name is Claire clay and I had cancer!" always seemed like a fine way of putting off potential friendships too. I can identity because we moved to Vancouver a year after my eye cancer diagnosis, and I used to wonder whether I should tell new friends. Anyway, I am glad that you are moving on from the cancer and I am also glad to hear that the investigative procedure didn't reveal anything nasty. I have been thinking about you but was waiting for you to mention it in a blog post. Also I hate the word survivor when associated with cancer patients too!
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