11.18.02 provocation

Trish came for the weekend and we were talking about various things and I mentioned something in passing about cancer and found that she did not know about my disease. I wasn't surprised; the cancer was a closely held secret, a forbidden subject, until about two years ago.

I never used to talk about the disease because it is too difficult to explain, but more importantly, because I'm not interested in helping someone else feel okay about my situation. I never wanted to see that stricken look, the concern and dismay. So I kept secrets and covered my scars and had a roster of misleading stories to tell new friends.

Since I started publishing the illness essays, I have had to make startling adjustments in the way I interact with people. I have to be, at all times, the woman with cancer. Anyone who has read the essays knows the back story, and every conversation is influended by that knowledge. My funny anecdotes don't play very well these days. The same swift monologue that used to make people laugh has on more than one occasion brought tears to the eyes of a friend.

This sucks.

I hope that divulging my secret is a political act, that by putting my story into the world I will make it easier for other people to tell their own true stories. But it is painful, and sad, to watch a clinical diagnosis become my identity. I liked it better when people didn't understand.

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