I try to combat the natural…well, I suppose it’s natural… tendency to allow my cancer diagnosis to wreck my emotional state. When I was first diagnosed with lung cancer in late 2018, I entered the fray with the assumption I would win the battle. From the start, I fully expected to conquer the disease; almost to the point that I viewed the diagnosis as little more than an annoyance that would deliver some irritating experiences. I considered the idea that it would kill me as only remotely possible—and overly dramatic. I assumed I would join the legions of people who have overcome the diagnosis to live many years of happy and fulfilling lives. After a year of treatments, my assumption were proven correct. The disease went into remission, as far as anyone could tell, and stayed there for five years after the original diagnosis. But after its recurrence was discovered in late 2023, my confidence that I would “win” began to evaporate. With its return, I learned the disease was no longer curable. It ultimately would kill me, but treatments could prolong my life—perhaps by a lot. The treatment plan was based on the expectation that a limited number of chemotherapy treatments, followed by two years of weekly infusions of Keytruda immunotherapy. After almost two years of treatment following its recurrence, the initial treatment plan has long since been replaced. None of this is new information in this blog. I’ve repeated it so many times…maybe in an attempt to make my brain accept reality. Maybe, though, it is because I have not been as successful as I had hoped in preventing the disease from overwhelming my emotions. I’ve considered that possibility before. An online article I read this morning on the NPR website might reinforce that idea.
Coping with cancer is rarely easy for anyone, but men tend to fare worse — emotionally and physically — than women. Evidence shows male survivors isolate more, seek less peer and other support and, alarmingly, die earlier.
Yuki Noguchi, NPR
The NPR article addressed the emotional toll cancer takes on young men. While my youth is far behind me, I share some of the emotions described in the article: “You feel so beat up and powerless;” “So much of cancer is the loss of the self and loss of control…that’s probably the hardest thing.” The article focuses on age and sex, but I suspect sex is the attribute contributing most to the emotional toll of a cancer diagnosis. The article notes that women tend to go to treatments in the company of friends and family, while men tend to go alone (not in my case, though, at mi novia’s insistence). Our culture, which expects men to conform to strong, silent type images, discourages men from seeking help in confronting their fears. In my case, it’s not fear of death that is debilitating, but I am not sure exactly what it is that has led me to isolate myself from an already limited network of friends. That having been said, it may be fear of another kind; fear of being unable to control my emotions if I allow them to crack the veneer of practical realism. But that’s just a guess. The idea of participating in a “support group,” in which I can remain anonymous may have some merit.
I pride myself on refusing to be taken in by the nonsensical mythology of masculinity, yet that very independence may be just for show. An aspiration, not really an attribute.
My attitude about my diagnosis and about my emotional state of mind may go through a dozen changes before noon today. That possibility bothers me. It provides evidence that my “take what comes” approach to this challenge in my life may be a counterfeit $223 bill featuring a portrait of Clarence Thomas. Oh well, maybe laughter is not the best medicine, after all. Maybe cyanide, instead, can claim its rightful place in that metaphor.
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Today’s visit with the oncologist probably will be a brief one: a blood draw for labs, a short conversation with my oncologist, and (depending on the results of the labs) an injection to address either anemia or bone-related issues.
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The time is closing in on 7:00 a.m. Before the morning is out, I’ll make myself clean and presentable so I can sit in the oncology treatment room, where I will attempt to be invisible.
Bev, you are always so on target! So insightful…such a delightful to hear from! Thanks for confirming my thoughts about men and our tendency toward holding it all inward.
Those are some interesting observations – the differences between how men and women cope with cancer. I remember when Don was going for chemo, it was in a large lab with maybe 30 or 40 beds or recliners. Men often came alone or with their wives or adult children. Women often came with friends or people who were probably their sisters. A lot of women came with a book that was popular at that time — “Crazy, Sexy Cancer” which is where the whole “F*ck Cancer” thing started. Women started getting a pretty militant attitude towards cancer around that time. Anyhow, by some coincidence, my brother and I were just discussing how women and men approach upheaval in different ways. For some odd reason, I’ve been watching a lot of YT videos on the CheapRVliving channel where the host (Bob) interviews people living in cars, vans, utility trailers, delivery truck conversions, and so on. He’s been doing these interviews for about 9 or 10 years. A lot of the people being interviewed are women — really a lot — especially in recent years. Many of them are older women, but some younger, who have gone on the road because they just can’t afford to live in a house or apartment anymore on whatever pensions they have. Some of the women are as old as 80, but most around late 60s and into their 70s. I’ve noticed that they see giving up their homes and going on the road as a sort of challenge and adventure — freedom. They are surprisingly unafraid – most just have one or two little dogs with them. But what I do notice is that they often hang out in groups and even do the convoy type thing that people in big RVs do — where they plan out a route and go around from place to place together. One I watched the other day was of 30 women with 30 “rigs” (everything from cars to nice vans) touring around through Red Rock country together. It showed them around “camp”, playing cards and other games and playing with their dogs, knitting, and just hanging out together. I’d say all of them on this “tour” looked to be in their 70s or older. I have not seen as much of this with men. What is also interesting is that some have mentioned being ill — he has asked what they do if something goes wrong — and the women stick together and help each other. One woman had had a couple of strokes, broke her wrist, and had eye surgeries all within one year, but she said her friends all helped her out. I look back at when Don was ill. None of his friends ever called or visited except for one old friend who had had cancer not too long before (in remission). The rest of his friends just hid out — for whatever dumb reason they had. It was our next door neighbour (a nurse) who would visit, and my mom. Don’s 3 brothers never visited or called. I just think a lot of men are crappy at giving support — they don’t seem to realize it’s important, or they don’t think they can do anything, or maybe they fear expressing emotion. Not all men, but a lot of them. It’s pretty weird and bizarre (and pretty useless).
Well, anyhow, the cancer journey (as some like to call it), is difficult. I think online help groups are pretty useful and supportive. When Don was ill, I joined the CancerGrace group — I think it’s called something else now. There were a lot of both caregivers and patients on there, discussing their diagnoses, treatments, side effects, health challenges, and so on. For a lot of those people, that was probably their only form of support, as it was for Don and I. I’m sorry that any of us has to go through this stuff, but it is what it is, and we just have to find the best ways to navigate. Take care.