Earlier this year I was diagnosed with a skin cancer. That is, a skin cancer up. my. bottom.
In other words, ANAL cancer.
I mean, no cancer is sexy, but after saying “anal” six times a day to a series of horrified faces, you start to wish for the relative grace of “breast”.
The diagnosis was confirmed four days before beginning a brand-new shiny role back in Adland. I’d taken six months off to see my only child out of kinder and into the heady world of school, and I was getting ready to jump back into Full Time World.
So, not only was this a terribly-timed diagnosis, it also meant that I had to contend with unemployed boredom as well as the crushing fear of imminent death. I mean, give a girl a break!
I’m pretty sure this boredom was one of the reasons I decided to Instagram my cancer.
Yes, you heard me correctly. I announced my cancer on Insta like some declare themselves engaged, or pregnant. More than a few people actually queried whether I was legit, suggesting maybe this was a really edgy viral marketing campaign for cancer awareness.
(Note to self: working in advertising can do terrible things to your cynic-meter…)
Via my Insta account I made it clear I was looking for Opt-Ins who’d be up for conversation (as I said, “this is a shitshow, not a sideshow”) and then I kicked my overshare switch into hyperdrive. What I wasn’t expecting was how much of a two-way street this channel would end up being. Baring all meant my mates felt safe enough to ask the un-askables.
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Excellent advice! I was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor years ago when I had just divorced my first husband and had two elementary-age daughters to raise. The doctors gave me a five-year survival rate of 34%, and my husband had moved a girlfriend into his house before the judge's signature on the divorce order was dry. She was not a nice person, so of course I was terrified about my girls' future. My hairdresser gave me wise counsel; first, she said, "Please let me shave your head before any chemo, because I don't want you to watch your hair fall out strand by strand." She also told me that, when anyone asked me what they could do, I should actually give them an assignment (bring our dinner on Thursday night, please take Anna to gymnastics next week). She said people feel so helpless in the face of this situation that they really mean it when they want to help. And she was so right. Nineteen years later, those girls have their college and masters degrees; I have had a wonderful career practicing law as a child advocate; and i met and married a man who is really and truly my soulmate (and who came with a coastal cottage in Maine!!)!