I live in a small town, a couple of thousand people nestled together in a fog filled valley. It is the type of place where you smile and say hello to everyone; chances are they are related to, a mate of, or work with someone you know. While the local newspaper reports on cattle prices and footy scores, what’s really happening is learnt at the pub or over a cup of coffee.
Some ailments are publicly acceptable topics for conversation. A broken bone, the flu, or a knee reconstruction can be discussed. Mental health is generally taboo – a conversation regarding your bipolar disorder is unlikely to be comfortable. Cancer seems to fall in the middle. People will talk about it but for some there is awkwardness.
Advice from the Leukaemia Foundation is that “it is usually better to be as honest and straightforward as you can … Keeping a diagnosis of cancer a secret for a long time is exhausting and in most cases impossible.” So I never tried to keep it a secret. When I was diagnosed I mentioned it to two or three people at most. Soon I had friends knocking on my door to see how I was.
It’s just not possible to be away from work and sport and everything else for a few weeks without any explanation – especially in a small town where the people you play tennis with are people you work with or your wife’s friend’s husband or have some other connection. Taking a month or so off without explanation would probably have led to some interesting rumours.
Having the news in the public domain has allowed others to open up to me. I have shared stories of cancers and other weird diseases. It has helped.
It’s been over twelve months now and there are still those who don’t know. When I walk down the street and people ask “How are you?” I’m not sure what they are asking and seek little clues rather than blurt out “I’m still having chemo but it seems to be going well and … oh … you didn’t know.” I’m thinking I should update my Facebook status to “Not dead yet (wink, wink)”.
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Thanks for reading.