First Fears
In the third column on Page 60 of the February edition of Marie Claire magazine, in an article on hair thinning and hair loss, the author writes the following:
"I spoke to 34-year-old breast cancer survivor Courtney Hagen, who revealed that when she heard her diagnosis, her first fears were for her golden locks."
Far be it from me to stomp on anyone's artistic license. I understand the power of a pithy soundbite. But I do feel that I have to defend myself at least a little from being perceived as a moronic airhead nincompoop, and also to share a bit of the less glamorous, less kicky, less "Marie Claire" parts of this disease.
My first fears? I am going to die, much sooner than I thought. I am never going to have children. My wonderful husband will grow old without me. My parents will suffer the horrifying fate of burying their child. There are places I have always wanted to see that I never will. I will die without having truly added anything to the world, without having made a difference, without contributing to something larger than myself.
The worst part of this disease is that even now, after treatments that did not make me sick, after surgery from which I bounced back in just a few weeks, after enjoying the benefit of being able to go braless for the first time since I was 11 years old, those fears never entirely disappear. Because even though my prognosis is excellent and chances are outstanding that I will live to see and do and achieve many more things, I am not "cured."
A friend recently shared the sad news that her mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer. In a natural reaction, especially for someone as bright and analytical as she is, she had been in a research fog for three days straight, soaking up all the information she could about the disease. "Only now do I truly realize the long term emotional impact of this for you," she said, as I imparted what little wisdom and experience I could over the phone. "The fear never goes away, because once you have had this disease, it's always there."
Like my scars, the fear fades with time, as every week takes me farther away from the diagnosis and closer to the magical "five years out" mark, as my hair grows back and my chest muscles grow more flexible, as I allow myself to believe in the statistics a little bit more every day. But the fears have not disappeared entirely, nor do I expect they ever will. But I firmly believe that there is more to be gained from looking into the future than from lingering in the past.
Which is why I just rolled my eyes when I saw the sentence, distilled from a 35 minute conversation the author and I had on the phone in late summer. Although my self-righteous, "I'm no airhead" defense holds a little less water upon reading the rest of the paragraph, a direct quote my friends will immediately recognize as accurate: "I had a double mastectomy, but I was more traumatized about losing my hair." A statement even my doctors will vouch for.
"I spoke to 34-year-old breast cancer survivor Courtney Hagen, who revealed that when she heard her diagnosis, her first fears were for her golden locks."
Far be it from me to stomp on anyone's artistic license. I understand the power of a pithy soundbite. But I do feel that I have to defend myself at least a little from being perceived as a moronic airhead nincompoop, and also to share a bit of the less glamorous, less kicky, less "Marie Claire" parts of this disease.
My first fears? I am going to die, much sooner than I thought. I am never going to have children. My wonderful husband will grow old without me. My parents will suffer the horrifying fate of burying their child. There are places I have always wanted to see that I never will. I will die without having truly added anything to the world, without having made a difference, without contributing to something larger than myself.
The worst part of this disease is that even now, after treatments that did not make me sick, after surgery from which I bounced back in just a few weeks, after enjoying the benefit of being able to go braless for the first time since I was 11 years old, those fears never entirely disappear. Because even though my prognosis is excellent and chances are outstanding that I will live to see and do and achieve many more things, I am not "cured."
A friend recently shared the sad news that her mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer. In a natural reaction, especially for someone as bright and analytical as she is, she had been in a research fog for three days straight, soaking up all the information she could about the disease. "Only now do I truly realize the long term emotional impact of this for you," she said, as I imparted what little wisdom and experience I could over the phone. "The fear never goes away, because once you have had this disease, it's always there."
Like my scars, the fear fades with time, as every week takes me farther away from the diagnosis and closer to the magical "five years out" mark, as my hair grows back and my chest muscles grow more flexible, as I allow myself to believe in the statistics a little bit more every day. But the fears have not disappeared entirely, nor do I expect they ever will. But I firmly believe that there is more to be gained from looking into the future than from lingering in the past.
Which is why I just rolled my eyes when I saw the sentence, distilled from a 35 minute conversation the author and I had on the phone in late summer. Although my self-righteous, "I'm no airhead" defense holds a little less water upon reading the rest of the paragraph, a direct quote my friends will immediately recognize as accurate: "I had a double mastectomy, but I was more traumatized about losing my hair." A statement even my doctors will vouch for.
posted by Courtney at 12:07 AM
4 Comments:
C,
I found your blog last spring through a friend of a friend's blog. You are such an amazing writer! The author of that article should have browsed your blog - one glance would have indicated to her that you are no ditzy goldi-locks!
KT
Hello. This post is likeable, and your blog is very interesting, congratulations :-). I will add in my blogroll =). If possible gives a last there on my blog, it is about the Webcam, I hope you enjoy. The address is http://webcam-brasil.blogspot.com. A hug.
Where are you Courtney? You have disappeared from YSC since leaving big news.
Kathryn (CSMA on YSC)
well I wish you would still blog...I for one... still share you fears...and don't give a shit what this disease does to my looks...I just don't want my parents to bury me, my son to grow up without me or my wife to live after me...
I am so happy you get a reprieve
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