Fear Is a Choice by James Conner

Author:James Conner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-06-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Recognize Your Team

Every two weeks, on Monday morning, when the winter sky was barely beginning to lighten and the piles of plowed snow were still frozen solid, my mom and I made the trek to the Hillman Cancer Center for my chemotherapy treatments. Moving through December, then January, and into February, my routine became as predictable as a western Pennsylvania winter: you may not know exactly what’s coming, but it’s going to be miserable.

Over the previous months, I’d tried very hard to keep my emotions to myself—not because I was trying to “play it cool,” but because I just didn’t see the need to create drama and pull other people into the ups and downs of my doctor visits. Everyone has enough to worry about in their own lives, I reasoned. They don’t need to worry about me, too. Once I received my diagnosis, however, I had no choice but to share it publicly because word was going to get out sooner or later.

On the morning of my first treatment, two different people recognized me in the Hillman lobby and came over to talk. “You couldn’t have kept this private if you wanted to,” my mom whispered to me after I’d awkwardly smiled and stammered my thanks for their well-wishes. I was uncomfortable knowing that perfect strangers were now acquainted with my health situation—something that would normally be a very private matter. I appreciated the support I received from every corner, but it took a little while to overcome my discomfort with the attention and focus that the whole situation put on me. It seemed a whole lot easier to keep everything close to the vest and to work through it myself rather than making my treatment a community event. I know it takes a village and all that, but what did the village have to do with my personal health?

My mom, dad, and brothers could physically be present for me, but they couldn’t actually feel what I was experiencing. No one could stand in my shoes, no matter how willing they were to do so. Any one of them would have traded places with me in a second if they could have—they all told me as much—but none of them could actually suffer the same panic over what was happening inside my body. None of them could feel the physical side effects I knew were coming after each chemo treatment.

I thought that I could combat the feelings of isolation by preparing myself to be as self-sufficient as possible during treatments; if I didn’t need anyone else’s help, maybe I wouldn’t feel as frustrated or helpless. I quickly learned what to anticipate and how to tackle it. Before I even sat down, I made sure there was a supply of barf bags next to my seat so that I could grab one the moment I felt the nausea start. I also sweated profusely during the chemo, so I remembered to ask for a blanket each day before I got started so I wouldn’t have to be soaking wet and shivering when I took off my dripping shirt.

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