It’s Wasn’t a Holiday

When I returned to work my peers asked how my holiday was. “It wasn’t a holiday. I had surgery. I’m recovering well. Moving right along…” I still haven’t told anyone I work with that I have cancer a diagnosis. I thought I wouldn’t have to ever come to work with it. I thought when I came back the saga would be over. But it isn’t.

Thyroid cancer is treated via surgery and, as needed, a radioactive iodine pill. I’m in the “as needed” category, haven’t taken the pill yet, and can’t yet pretend it didn’t happen isn’t happening. (I’m so ready to move this to past tense!) That said, I still feel guilty for not telling everyone that I have cancer. It feels like the longer I wait the more upset they will be. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” Meanwhile, I can’t help but think, “why would I?”

At work, they probably wouldn’t care, honestly, maybe, I think. But here’s my thing— I told everyone I talk to regularly. Anyone else? If they find out then it will be whenever that is.

Also, maniacally, I also know that if I wait long enough it’ll be something so long ago that it will sound like a non-thing. Right? Actually… I don’t think the shock of cancer-as-diagnosis gets an expiration date. But doesn’t it? It definitely does for people you’ve just met. There’s no reason to have a conniption over someone beating cancer before you met them, you know? What about people who you know before the diagnosis? Do they find out a year or more later and respond with shock and horror? In my mind’s eye that type response feels a bit performative. My logic suggests that if someone wants to know what’s going on with me then they’ll talk to me. Right? Maybe?

Anyway, that’s where I am. Feeling a teensy bit responsible for other people’s shock but also kicking it down the line to deal with later using the idea that it will be less abrasive when I’m living a marvelous life post-treatment.