On Survivorship
getting proton beam radiation, MGH, November 2005
Reminder: if you have good health, or even okay health, the kind of health where you don’t worry whether you’ll be dead in 6 months, you are in a privileged position. Mortality is the great equalizer of course but we are not equipped to deal with our oblivion 24/7 so we fret about what that car is doing parked in front of our house or if our skills are undervalued in the job we don’t like anyway or if this is actually a great blouse. I’m 17 years out from being in the thick of my diagnosis, surgeries, treatment, and if you met me you wouldn’t know at first I’d been there. But I have and it feels like I never left. Like I am straddling two spheres, one containing the signifiers of the prior life - the small talk, the striving, the annoyances of daily living (including but not limited to underqualified people speaking with perceived authority about cinema or bike lanes or artisanal ice cream) - and one containing the urgency of the clock, forever ticking in the foreground, watching helplessly while everything and everyone winds down to their inevitable doom. It’s like I can’t leave either place, which sounds unfortunate but it’s a million times better than being stuck in the dark sphere until time is up. I am grateful to still be here, to be writing and making movies, to be drawing breath. But to imply that what I went through is behind me is false. I am guessing most (all?) survivors feel a version of this. And I haven’t even addressed the fear/anxiety/depression component of surviving yet. But now, I’ll stop writing, go for a run, take a shower and stop thinking about this for a little bit, which is a privileged position. Related:
