Everyone Loves a Cancer Patient

One more round of chemo to go today! Whhoot!

So I've come across this fascinating phenomenon, that everyone I tell I have cancer instantly loves me. At first it was kind of a joke, but really! And I have a petri dish of high maintenance 7th and 8th graders to prove it. Some students that I know didn't like me were suddenly angels in the classroom. In fact all of my students became instant angels and some of my closest associations (okay so I had some natural angels anyway...but those of you that know my clientele know most of them do not exactly act that part all the time!!). I expected dating to get awkward as well--that's a pretty heavy can of worms to open on a first date! But somehow I have found it easier to connect with people.

Exhibit A: I ended up visiting a strange ward where I didn't know many people. I overheard a conversation where the guy sitting next to me was invited to play his cello in the service the next Sunday. So of course I piped in (quietly. this is church right?) that I play the cello too! The conversation went something like this:

Me: You play the cello? thats cool I do too!
Guy: You do? We should duet!
Me: That'd be cool. But . . . I can't this weekend
Guy: Why not?
Me: Well...I'm going to be sick this weekend
Guy: Liar.
Me: No really! I'm going to be sick!!
Guy: You're just saying that to get out of it.
Me: No I love playing! But I'm going to be sick.
Guy: How do you know?
Me: Well... (finally I give in) I have cancer. I have chemo this week so I'm going to be sick.
Guy: Oh!
After the meeting
Guy:  I think you're really interesting. Do you want to go out sometime?

I laughed really hard inside! Haha glad cancer can make me more interesting. So what is it (besides just being my naturally irresistable self =S) that suddenly makes people interested? What's the magic that turns snottily-behaving kids into angels? I don't feel that different.

First, I think people feel a little bad for me. They recognize I'm going through something and I'm telling you cancer patients can get away with next-to-murder if they want to.  And they can get OUT of anything. I think I'm naturally introverted and I told my mom I want an "I can't, I have cancer" t-shirt.  I joked about my special ability to get what I want with my students, but got in trouble one day in a different conversation with them. I was explaining a complicated situation when a student piped up: "Ms. Barnes can't you just play your cancer card??" Oops! Not something I meant to teach them! I have to be careful to not use it as an excuse. Fortunately, most of the time I feel well enough that I just feel like a normal person. The bald thing is a little weird, but I just feel like myself, so its odd that people treat me so differently (not that I'm complaining! :D).

But isn't everyone going through something? I can tell you of mental or emotional pain that is much higher on my trial scale than my cancer. The thing is, most of you can. But often, we forget to pray for our friends going through depression or anxiety or other heavy trials. And if its us, we try to go on doing all the things we think we "should" be able to do, putting on a happy face. We expect SO much out of ourselves and the people around us, but the truth is nearly everyone is going through something difficult! Either because of poor personal choices (lets face it. We are all just imperfect people), or because this life just stinks sometimes. Its hard! And while I don't think we ought to use our trials for excuses, I submit we need to cut some slack sometimes and just LOVE ourselves and each other a little more. We're all champions in this world.

 Brene Brown, author of Daring Greatly,
talks about the importance of vulnerability

My second idea about why it's easy to love a cancer patient has to do with vulnerability. I recently started to read a book called Daring Greatly. The author asserts that vulnerability is the key to meaningful connections, and without it we struggle with happiness because connecting with other humans is why we are here.  It is not easy to get close to someone who appears perfect, perhaps because we find it difficult to relate and end up using them more like a measuring stick than a friend. Cancer makes you instantly vulnerable. I have to share private details about my life because it affects so much of it right now (and tbh with something like breast cancer the conversation can instantly get awkward with perfect strangers). I've had to be more open people than I've ever been in my life. Maybe I'm the only one that is surprised that it has been easier to make friends and have meaningful conversations. I'm really hoping to translate this into my normal life once the cancer-crap is over. I don't think we need to share our deepest struggles with everyone we see on the street, but having the courage to admit our imperfections or to share details of our lives is how we connect and exchange love. And it does take courage.

My mission trainer always told me to embrace the awkward. #vulnerable

So while we're here, I thought I'd let you in on the secrets as to why this trial hasn't been the hardest of my life, and what helps me not be overwhelmed by it.

The first thing is the incredible power of prayer. I have more people praying for me than ever in my life! Students and parents of students and friends and family and friends of all those people.  Many have been kind enough to put my name on temple prayer rolls, where people pray daily for me and others going through difficult times. I have never felt so lifted and supported in any trial by people here and by heaven. Truly my burden has been made light.

Next, through reasons difficult to express, I know I'm not going to die.  I guess if I was I think I could learn to deal with it, but as it is I know I have plenty to accomplish and learn before I leave this place.  That makes cancer more like a speed bump in my life-a time to slow down and simplify a little. And while I am definitely learning a lot, cancer is not going to define my life. Sorry if you're disappointed when I don't wear pink every day for the rest of my life or get a "breast cancer survivor" license plate cover.  I hope instead to cherish the friendships and lessons I've learned and to move forward with them.

 Finally, I recognize that my body is obviously an important part of me, but it is not me. In the LDS faith, we are taught that our spirits lived long before we were born, we came to earth to get a body and gain experience, and after we die our spirits will live on.  Our spirits had a lot of knowledge before, and we'll retain all the knowledge we gain here on earth when we leave it.  Therefore, my spirit is my true self, and my body is a vehicle for instruction and experience.  It makes it easier for me to deal with the scars and baldness and some crazy side effects of chemo.  Because my body is not who I am, the outward changes aren't able to shake my identity. It becomes more of an adventure if anything, learning about how amazing and resilient our bodies are. I know I'm still the same daughter of God inside.  And gratefully when we've all passed humanity's tests, God will make our bodies whole and perfect in the resurrection.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

-Theodore Roosevelt