In the Eye of the Beholder

I read my friend’s latest blog entry, which made it very clear just how much she hates having cancer—as if any of us would’ve doubted that. Obviously, that was a given; but I think it was still therapeutic for her to actually come right out in the open and spew a litany of specifics—everything from the color of her chemo drug entering her veins to the baldness on top of her head. I can remember reading one of her earlier blog postings—the one which focused on losing her hair—and finding such profoundness in her realization that she had been more upset after losing her hair than after learning she had lymphoma. And while that may surprise some at first, when I thought about it, I could understand what she was getting at. Naturally, her reaction made her question her own degree of vanity; but can we really fault her for being more upset about baldness than cancer? Or do they not really represent one and the same?

Anyone who knows my friend could tell you what I’m going to tell you, now: her hair looked great. It was gorgeous—long, dark, thick, and flowing, with waves just where you’d want them. I’m not a psychologist, but I’ve taken enough psychology courses to know that her self-image is firmly meshed with such a physically-identifying feature as her hair. And so, yes, I’m sure part of her emotional response was due the fact she feared not looking as good as she could to others, at least not on the outside. But, more so, I suspect her reaction—whether conscious or not—is because the baldness is a constant reminder that things are not right, for her, on the inside. Every time she looks in a mirror she’s forced to confront an image of herself that she, subconsciously, does not identify with, at all. By her nature, she is not weak, ill, or helpless. Thus, the incongruity is palpable, as it leaves her feeling unsettled in her most-forgiving moments—and, justifiably, angry, in her most-trying ones.

And that’s OKAY! What’s important for her to remember, throughout this ordeal, is that while she may look different on the outside, she still looks her same, old beautiful self to us.

On the Art of Overcoming

Okay, I’m finally taking the leap—yes, into the realm of blogs, I go. What can I say; I was a big wimp, only too content to remain in my haven of ignorance. I guess you could say I had a serious case of bloggophobia. I mean, we’re talking about someone who’s managed to avoid reading blogs as if they were the plague, itself. Up till very recently, I had read maybe a handful of blog entries, at best—mostly at the insistence of my writer-friends.

Now, once I came around to the realization that blogs could actually possess some measure of substance, I did some reflecting on why, as a writer, I was so opposed to the idea of blogging, in the first place. For one thing, I know it took me months just to decipher the exact meaning of a “blog,” let alone seek one out to read. In fact, just recently, I learned that the word, itself, is a short-combo form of “web log”—which makes perfect sense, now, but you know how it goes; sometimes the most obvious is the most elusive.

So, what exactly tipped the decision-to-blog balance for me? Well, a couple of weeks ago, I found out that a good friend had been diagnosed with stage-one lymphoma, about a month before. We live nearly 3000 miles apart, so much of our relationship happens via the Internet. Needless to say, I was shocked and saddened by the news, particularly when I considered just how much my friend always seemed the epitome of picture-perfect health. On top of that, she’s eleven years my junior. So, while feeling completely helpless and much too far away from her, I craved information. Luckily, for me, she had had the foresight to document her cancer journey in her blog.

Thus, on that very evening of hearing the news, I read her entire blog; and by the time I’d finished, I’d also unwittingly done a one-eighty on my view of blogging. Suddenly, my eyes were opened. Blogs weren’t just a means for pointless self-expression—rants of egotism masked behind a veil of verbiage. No, instead—and perhaps this is to my friend’s credit—I came away from reading her postings, not only informed but also, strangely, comforted.

And where, you might ask, did I find such reassurance in the midst of a chronicle, pitting human against cancer? Well, despite an acute awareness of my friend’s vulnerability—and all of ours, really, I suppose—I discovered my friend possessed far more courage than either of us ever had reason to suspect she had, prior. Sure, at the painful one-treatment-at-a-time pace, chemo is rendering her physical state defenseless; yet, the depth of her emotional strength cannot be denied. Surprisingly, her blog’s transcending message reveals an unflinching sense-of-humor—less surprisingly, a dose of rare and utter honesty.

Now, I won’t make the claim I’ve been in her shoes—because I haven’t, exactly. But, like most folks who’ve lived through periods of extreme adversity, I’ve come to understand that it’s in such times we feel most compelled to reassess priorities. Suddenly, you’re confronted with all your past foolishness and vanities. You realize it doesn’t really matter if your home is spotless. No, when you’re in the midst of such personal upheaval, you find that you’re operating in what I identify with as “survival mode”—and, so, when your first-grader’s outfit clashes, instead of being mortified, you celebrate the fact that she picked out her clothes, all on her own.

Still, while I've managed to overcome my irrational fear of blogs, my friend’s challenge is infinitely more. Obviously, I wish I could look into a crystal ball and—poof—be assured a guaranteed victory of my friend’s battle is just a matter of time. Better yet, if I could wave a magic wand and make manifest her instantaneous restoration to perfect health. Seriously, how cool would that be? But, unfortunately, cancer is immune to these Disney-esque notions. Anyone who’s successfully beat cancer can tell you, it requires an all-out, simultaneous assault against the C-beast—on all fronts: physical, emotional, and spiritual. No doubt my friend has hordes of medical professionals, doing everything in their power to obliterate the cancer within her. She has a strong, support network of loving friends and family, to lend her all the emotional support she needs to succeed. But most importantly, throughout this trial, she has her faith in God, to sustain her. I know this, because it’s what sustained me on the multiple occasions when life and death hung in the balance, for me. And so, just like then, I pray everyday for God to grant my friend continued strength, trusting full well in her ability to emerge, ultimately, triumphant.