Cancer Club

The first rule of cancer club is You do not talk about Cancer Club.

I'm just kidding. The first rule of Cancer Club (aka Support Group) is that everything is confidential. So, as much as I want to write about the wonderful women I met at tonight's "Support Group for Young Women with Cancer" put on by the Women's Cancer Resource Center in Oakland, I'm going to respect their privacy and the first rule of the Club (it's actually the only rule). Instead I'll write about my experience and how it made me feel (you know, all the mushy gushy crap).

In the last 7-8 months, I've isolated myself. So many people know someone who's gone through cancer, but no one knows what it's like unless they've been through it themselves. And even though I've had the (un)fortunate opportunity to be in contact with people who have been through their own cancer's, it's still been pretty lonely. I've spent a lot of time and energy trying to make sure that the people around me were comfortable. People tell me that I'm so strong - but what choice did I have? I would sit in my car to cry because I had to be strong for my mom. I had to put on this brave face because I couldn't watch the look on my mom's face when I was sobbing and I didn't have an answer for when she asked me "What's wrong?" In this heroic attempt to be strong for other people, I wasn't allowing myself to grieve for the loss of my pre-cancer life, or to give myself the opportunity to cry just because there were no words to describe what I was feeling. A woman I met early on in my cancer experience told me that it's an incredibly lonely disease. No matter how many people are around you or want to help you, you're the only one going through this horrible thing, so no one really understands. But... that's why there are support groups. Because there are people who understand.

The patient navigator at Kaiser gave me a list of local support groups way back in December, but I was still trying to ignore my cancer and pretend like it wasn't really a part of my life, so I didn't give them any thought. I threw myself into my training, being grateful that my schedule magically worked around my treatment without me having to spill the beans to my new employer. Now that time has passed, and I've come closer to accepting where I'm at, I felt like it would be good for me to meet up with other women who could relate to the emotions I've felt over these last few months. The list that the patient navigator gave me was for breast cancer groups, but I specifically wanted groups that were geared toward younger women facing cancer. So, tonight, I attended my first support group. All of the women that attended were 40 or under, facing various types of cancer, and at different stages in treatment. Even the group leader had been a cancer patient.

I'd say that in any normal situation, a room full of women would have raging hormones and personality differences. Add cancer to that equation, and the hormones intensify. But, having this one common bond, it didn't matter our age, our cancer type, stage of treatment, or whatever. The fear, loneliness, anxiety, betrayal by our own bodies... all of those feelings unified us. While it was a chaotic jumble of different voices struggling to get our story out in the measly 90 minute time frame, starting a tale and getting sidetracked and then segueing into a different topic, there was still a sense of calm in that room. There was no judgment. No walking on eggshells, no pretending to be okay when we're not okay.

I noticed a theme when we all introduced ourselves. Each one of us somehow incorporated that we were grateful for something within our diagnosis - to have had successful treatment, to have an "easy" cancer, to have found the cancer early before it spread, or to simply finally have an answer to what was causing pain. It kind of made me think that even within this safe haven of fellow commiserators, we didn't want to complain about this shitty thing that brought us together. We didn't want to seem weak, even in front of each other. Before we even really had a chance to support each other, we were already denying our own pain. We aren't fully giving ourselves permission to feel our feelings. My heart hurts so much for one of the women in this group, but I know she doesn't want my pity. She's there to cry and get out what she's holding in. My cancer may be easier than her cancer, and I feel guilty for that, but I know that she doesn't want me to feel guilty. Our situations suck equally, in different ways. We all have our own unique struggles that have come with our different types of cancer, but the emotions we've all experienced are so similar that it's nice to no longer feel isolated.

The group ran over by about 20 minutes because we all just had so much to say. I was nervous going in to the group - to be vulnerable with complete strangers. I've gotten more comfortable in talking to people I know about my cancer, but it's still a difficult thing to discuss with people I don't know. I desperately tried not to cry during my introduction, but I failed miserably. And that's okay. Because not crying would've been another way in which I would've been denying myself my pain, and a support group is definitely the place where it's okay to cry. I would say I should've gone to a group sooner, but I don't think I would've been ready. Today it felt right. I'm happy that I went, and I hope I get the opportunity to continue going. As my anxiety about my treatment starting to taper off grows, I feel like this will be a good outlet for me to calm the anxiety, and also have people that won't make feel crazy for missing the security and feeling of DOING something to kill the cancer that chemo provides.

Tomorrow I'm going to a different support group, specifically for young women with breast cancer. I'm excited to see who I'll meet at this Cancer Club.